


If You Can't Fix It, You Have To Stand It

by lesbian4lochness



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Actor AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, Dramatic Irony, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbianism, Lots of it, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Quentin Beck is in it and is also the worst, Service Animals, Social Media, Steve needs one too, Tangled (2010) References, War Movies, World War II, but it's usually all handled well, but make it gay, everyone does, fyi i have never been on a movie set, gratuitous mentions of musical theatre, it hurts, original movie characters, peter parker is rlly good, plot heavy, quentin beck is the WORST, this is going to be infuriating to read i can already tell, tw for mental illness in general, wherever i could fit it, writing the movie i wish i could see, you're welcome gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbian4lochness/pseuds/lesbian4lochness
Summary: Bucky Barnes, fresh off a self-imposed hiatus-slash-isolation, is excited to start acting again. When he receives notice that he’s been cast for Tony Stark’s WWII passion project, featuring Bucky’s embarrassing celebrity crush, Steven Grant Rogers, he is beyond stoked.SGR is a seasoned actor, tired of mostly playing ‘That one blonde, hot dude’ in every major action film to hit the big screen in the past six years, is ready to quit acting altogether. It’s not until he gets a call from Tony, who offers him a chance to clear his name, and act in a film that has real meaning that he begins to feel optimistic for the future of his careerBut when their director turns out to be totally incompetant, the two of them slowly begin to discover the opportunity is not all it’s cracked up to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> h I I I I :)  
a big thanks to Camden for proofreading last minute!! ily a lot. ALSO, thanks to witchy for the GREAT ART and also the fucking unreal social media posts
> 
> this is the first Bang i've ever done as a writer, and i'm pretty proud of the result. It's been a long, stressful road, but i'm glad to finally get this out of my google docs recent page and onto the sea of the internet!! 
> 
> Most of this is just me working through my own mental health issues so get ready to enter projection city! i can firmly say i am in a better place now than when I planned this, which is progress i guess!
> 
> if anyone is going through a rough patch, my inbox is always open! I know i'm just a stranger on the internet, but if you ever need someone to listen, I'm here :)
> 
> i'll probably post 2 chapters a week, but don't quote me on that
> 
> TY for reading <3

Steve slammed his laptop shut and turned it away from Sharon, leaning back in his chair.

He hadn’t bothered to get dressed before he came here, and Sharon wasn’t expecting company. Her office was one of the largest in the building, but that didn't mean much, and the tall stacks of paper, cardboard boxes, and filing cabinets that littered the room made it feel smaller than it was.

He had rushed in just as Sharon was about to close up for the weekend, his windbreaker and scarf hastily thrown over a U.S Army tee and superman pajama bottoms. Sharon, at first sight of him, had sat back down at her desk and threw her keys on the bureau. If Steve had gone outside looking like that, Sharon figured, it must be bad.

"That's… wow,” Sharon said after a while, her fears confirmed.

“Wow’s right.” Steve sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face. “Interesting how they watched that interview long enough to hear me say that, but not the part where I actually came out. Explicitly. The Roots played Diana Ross and everything!”

“I mean, it's just TMZ. Nobody takes them seriously anyway.”

“Yeah, no one but the seven other so-called news platforms announcing my status as an 'Ally'.” Sharon sat down in her chair, keys still in hand, and straightened her jacket. The building had all gone home for the weekend, leaving everywhere except the pocket of light in her office pitch dark. Steve felt bad for keeping her late, but he had no idea what else to do. “It's just the first press wave. I'm sure soon enough ‘SGR is Bi’ will be on every headline.” Sharon waved her arms, as if to emulate the title of an article, and faked a smile. “You'll be sick of reading it.”

Steve laughed bitterly. “Optimism isn't a good look on you, Sharon.”

“No, I suppose that's your thing, Captain.” She mock-saluted him, but the moment still weighed heavily on both of them.

Steve thought he'd escaped this when he left the army - this feeling of dread, like he was trapped between a ruined life and living a lie. Like someone had cut out his tongue and made him eat it.

Maybe he was waxing poetic, but the feeling was the same; coming out should have been liberating, but instead Steve felt more confined than ever.

“What's your diagnosis?” Steve finally said into the silence.

“As your manager? I'd say stick to your guns, but lay low. Be pragmatic, but honest. If someone asks, tell them, but don't bring it up again until this blows over. Ya know, don't as-” Sharon stopped herself from finishing.

“...Don't ask don't tell?” He finished, looking her in the eyes.

“Sorry. Bad comparison.”

“S’fine.” It wasn't, but Steve knew she didn't mean any harm, so he knew he shouldn't get upset.

“As your friend, though?” Sharon put a sympathetic hand on Steve’s arm. “I'd say ‘fuck em.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve managed a smile.

“Yeah! This is a big deal for you, Steve! Who is fucking TMZ to tell you to step even a single toe back in the closet?”

“A multi million dollar new platform that influences what news gets out to the public by accessibility?”

“You're impossible.” Sharon stood up abruptly, as if to demonstrate that she’d had enough. “Come on, get up.”

“Where are we going?” Steve stood up anyway, knowing he couldn't help whatever was coming.

“To eat our feelings. I'm taking you to that new burger place down the street,” Sharon shut off her lamp, sending the whole building back into darkness, and allowing the lights outside to shine through the bay windows.

“Call it a ‘congrats on almost coming out’ gift.”

* * *

\ On the walk home from ‘Risky Fixins’, Steve began to feel a pale imitation of calm.

Whether it was the burger so large he had to hold it with both hands, or several too many beers shared between him, Sharon, and the store’s owner - some sweet Norwegian guy who was so cut looked like he ate a dozen eggs for breakfast every day - Steve felt his heart rate begin to slow, and warmth to seep back into his bones.

The air was crisp and clean-smelling, or as clean as the cigarette-stained New York air ever could. Even though his cheeks stung with the cold wind, Steve was warm in his coat and gloves. It was almost 3 in the morning, but the brightness of the fluorescent street signs and billboards lit up the air around him and concealed the darkness of the early morning. The usually busy street was now eerily devoid of a crowd- the only sounds coming from the lazy roll of moving cars and light pockets of conversation from New York’s nocturnal population.

Steve decided to take the way he usually avoided: through Times Square.

It had been a while since Steve had been able to just be alone with his thoughts. The past few months for him had been filled with endless photoshoots, press tours, and substance-free cash grab action films. He barely had any time to breathe before the next project. Steve realised he did it to himself by design - the less time he has to think, the less chance he would quit. The less opportunity to let down everyone who has ever believed in him. Now, though, calm and warm despite the cold, nothing to do but walk and listen to the sounds of the road? He could finally think.

Steve wondered what he was doing, wandering home in the cold after a therapeutic meal shared with his agent and the restaurant owner, Thor. He had taken up acting because he liked it more than shooting things, but now he thinks he would rather take his chances in the military. At least there the idea was to hide; he excelled at that. Sure, the nagging suspicion that anyone around him could ruin his life in any given moment still stuck with him, but it was a familiar sort of panic. He could handle the constant fear of being found out, because he had once lived with it every day.

He had been dimly aware back then that the whole point of not telling anyone he was bi, and having nobody ask him in return was so that he would be allowed to serve without fear. Nobody had accounted that it would affect him inversely, that the close-lipped nature of the practice had Steve constantly in fight-or-flight, afraid of what might happen if word somehow got out. He knew it was the best he could’ve asked for back then- his whole existence criminalised, but mercifully ignored, but that did nothing to calm him.

Steve was of the opinion that the military wasn’t ignoring his queerness, but rather their own intolerance.

In its own, terrible way, it was funny how things had flipped. Back then, he would come close to tears at the idea that anyone secretly knew his sexuality. Back then, the sneaking suspicion that everyone knew weighed down on him. The idea of coming out to even a single person filled him with dread, and he had done it anyway , on national television no less. Back then, it seemed like everyone knew, and now that he wanted people to know, they seemed to be turning a bind eye. He would laugh, if it didn't hurt so much.

Steve spared a look up to the billboards around him, which was immediately a mistake, because he immediately saw his own face staring back at him.

It was a promo for The Silken Serpents, a ripoff of Indiana Jones. Were there even ‘silken serpents’ in the film? Or serpents of any kind? Absolutely not. But there he was, in all his tanned, shirtless glory, next to his name. It was written in a font that was definitely just Papyrus, and under his abs was the phrase “Number One Movie of the Year,” as if the poster was trying to convince everyone it was worth seeing. Steve grimaced and walked faster.

The irony was that Steve barely remembered filming the “best movie of the year.” He remembered the training, working out so hard he vomited, and not drinking for a solid 48 hours to lose water weight. He remembered waking up under the heat of stage-grade lights after passing out mid-scene from dehydration. He couldn’t name a single line he said in that movie, or a single plot point, but he remembered having to wean himself back to drinking water because if he drank as much as he wanted immediately his body would go into shock.

Why did he think walking through Times Square was a good idea? Spending time with Sharon had made him finally start to feel okay,. Of course, he had to go and do what he

was best at; overthinking. Was that Halal grocery store owner he just passed looking at him weirdly? He definitely was. That car just slowed down next to him, didn't it? Steve increased his pace down the street - going the long way around was definitely not a good idea. The lights around him seemed too bright, the air smelled stale and bitter, and his coat suddenly became useless at blocking out the cold. Every person he passed seemed to look at him for too long, the anonymous screen of the evening fog suddenly failing him.

He was all but running down the street by the time he got back to his apartment, struggling to fit his key into his door’s lock, breathing heavily for reasons more than his fast pace, and slammed the door open.

Max was lounging on the sofa, looking up at him with only mild interest when Steve slid to the ground in front of the door and buried his head in his arms. His heart was beating too fast - the fact that he could feel it beating at all tipped it off - and his throat was closing around the lump in it. Steve felt a ball of fluff nudge at his arm, and opened up to welcome his dog’s head against his chest. Max moved to lay across Steve's lap, a steadying and heavy presence. While Steve still felt like his heart was about to explode, he was happy he had Max’s soft white fur to run his hands through while it happened.

Max made a disapproving snuffle against his leg, chastising Steve for coming home late without bringing him along, as he probably should have.

“I know, dude.” Steve leaned his head against the door, breathing out slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Max licked his cheek as a response, before sticking his head to break up where Steve’s fingernails were scratching at his arms and leaning his weight against his owner’s. It was Max’s alert- his way of telling his owner to focus on how he felt. He had been trained to do it whenever Steve showed signs that he was anxious, and it was designed to calm him down before he spiralled.

Too Late, Steve wanted to say

* * *

Later, when Steve laid awake in bed, with Max curled up at his side, his anxiety finally rested to a familiar, dormant sickness as he scrolled through Twitter. He scrolled through post after post about his Tonight show appearance, and felt no better about it.

> Logically, Steve knew never to listen to the internet, but he couldn’t stop scrolling, brain and fingers on autopilot. He saw the people who understood what he was trying to say, but for one of them there were ten people who thought he was an asshole.

He knew he should stop. Sharon would tell him to stop, go to bed, do anything to not let it ruin his night. Steve forced himself to close the Twitter app on his phone and then opened up a tab that he’s had open for days, a youtube video. Some 90s cartoon. It’s terrible - Steve knows that - but ever since the youtube recommendations hole had brought it into his life, he’d watched it almost religiously.

It looked like it was from some video game Steve wouldn’t know how to play, and judging from the dialogue, it was foreign and badly translated. Everyone in it sounds deeply apathetic, to a degree that’s so funny, you can’t help but laugh. Steve isn’t a voice actor, but it sounds like they pulled people off of the street and asked them to read the lines into a microphone, or like someone hired their family. That’s not why he’s watching it, though.

Close to the end of the video, a new character comes in. He just has one line, and the video is out of context, so Steve has no idea who he was or why he’s there, but he makes himself noticeable. The animated character is named Rupert. He’s covered in scratches and bruises and bandages, and his first line is “I’ll kick your ass!”, which is all the context Steve really needs. And when he says this actor is giving it his all, Steve is not exaggerating.

Rupert grunts, insinuating a kick, and says his line with passion so intense it verges on overacting. And, maybe his lines are out of sync with his costars, and maybe the sound mixing is shit, but it makes Steve smile anyway. The video or comments section doesn’t state the game or any of the actors. Steve reckoned the couple hundred views were mostly from himself. He spent hours stalking wikipedia, and found nothing, which isn’t the only indication that the game wasn’t all that popular - Rupert is the only one giving any effort, it seems. Or maybe he’s so good he can fake it.

Whatever it is, Rupert’s performance fills Steve with hope every time. If someone can work that hard at a performance - and, really, he cannot stress enough how hard he’s working - among so much apathy, anyone can.

Maybe even Steve, as jaded as he is. Maybe he can even love acting again, some day.

Halfway through the video, Steve’s phone buzzes, stopping the video right before Rupert’s line

. “Hello?” He answers groggily, as if he wasn’t completely awake at four in the morning.

“Hello, Steven” It’s Tony, Steve can tell, even though he didn't bother to check who was calling. “Just called to say my condolences,”

“Uh-huh.” Steve sat up, stirring Max in the process. He gave him a pat on the head to compensate.

“At four in the morning. Sure.”

“Okay,” Tony sighed. “You got me there, but I really am sorry. TMZ sucks, and you’re also famously vague at describing things, and people have trouble detecting subtlety. I know you’re not just gonna flat out tell the world _Hey, I'm Bi,_ or make out with a guy in front of a camera any time soon, but-”

“What do you want, Anthony?” It wasn’t unkind, otherwise Steve wouldn't bring out the full name. It was their equivalent of affection, he guessed.

“You see right through me.” There’s a bunch of rustling on the other end.

“Boy, have I got a role for you, Rogers.”

* * *

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Bucky walked into the first read through he'd attended in a year already about ready to go home, and then all at once decided he was going to stay.

SGR had been Bucky’s favorite actor since he was in high school. Lame, nerdy, taking solace in theatre from a world he was convinced hated him, and other such teenager things, Bucky had looked at SGR and see everything he wasn't, everything he wanted to be, and everything he would try to be even if the process killed him. 

Okay, Bucky was a dramatic 16 year old, but the concept still stood; Steven Grant Rogers was Bucky’s role model. Not even that- he was his Idol. And there he stood, in front of Bucky in all of his solid, infuriatingly casual glory. 

His hair was cropped shorter than it had been on his most recent press junket, the sides shaved close to his head. His posture was severe, but his eyes were warm and his stance was easygoing. His service dog’s leash was looped casually around one of his belt loops

There was no way Bucky’s luck and good fortune extended this far, With his luck? It was more likely that he’d entered the wrong room, and the universe was just fucking with him. 

“Are you sure we didn't just crash a readthrough for another movie- A127?? Was that the room number in the email? It couldn’t have been. This isn’t real.”

“Oh, It’s real” Natasha popped in next to him, a thankfully steady, although smug, presence. Bucky felt like he was going to pass out.

“I’ll pinch you if you want to make sure.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’d just pinch me for fun anyway?” 

Natasha leaned an elbow on his shoulder casually, assessing the view in front of them.

“Because I would.Without question.” 

Bucky recognised a few other actors and crew members, after the fact, his vision un-tunneling from Steven. The general idea Bucky had gotten was that most of the people in the film were bigger names than he was, and just looking around confirmed Bucky’s suspicions that he was way out of his depth. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I wanted to make sure you didn't pussy out.”

Bucky looked over his right shoulder at her, puzzled. “Why would I pussy out?.”

“Because that’s your thing.” Nat moved in front of him, gesturing lazily, movements slow and cat-like. “Clint injures himself and doesn’t tell anyone, Kate gets mad and moves to L.A, and You pussy out.”

“When have I ever “Pussied Out.?”

Nat began counting on her fingers. “Well there was your birthday. And when you had to fight that red light ticket. And Comic Con-”

“Okay, I get the point.”

“-And let’s not forget the past year where you pussied out on Life, just in general.”

“Alright, that’s enough. You've successfully hit a nerve.” 

For the record, Bucky didn’t Pussy Out, per say; it’s not like he had been scared to go outside his apartment all year. He just _ couldn’t. _

He had spent hours sitting on his floor, staring at a blank white wall, just thinking about how much he should get up. How he should shower, and get dressed, and eat breakfast, and get a _ goddamn job _ and go outside and do a million things that he just _ couldn’t. _

And no; he wasn’t just being lazy, thank you. And, no, he couldn’t help it. He wanted to get up, he was screaming inside his own head to get up, to just do something already. But something else in him screamed louder, drowned out any conviction he had with void-like apathy that sucked up every bit of strength and energy in him until he couldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom, and had the kidney infection to prove it. 

He would sit there and think about how his muscles wouldn’t work and he was so _ tired _, and he would just go on staring, hating himself more every second he didn't get up. 

But he was better now; Bucky had gone outside today. He had gotten dressed, and he was here, wasn’t he? 

“And what about you? What’s your ‘thing’?” 

“Nobody knows. I’m a mystery wrapped in an eni- behind you.”

“You’re a- wha-?” Bucky froze mid sentence. Almost suddenly, the full room’s worth of distance between him and SGR was closed, and he was faced very suddenly with the man who was Bucky’s lock screen, and who had been since tenth grade 

Bucky assembled an intelligent response. “Uh. Hi!”

“Hi! You’re James, right?” 

Shit. 

Shit , it was really him. Bucky knew like, Consciously that his high-school-actor-crush-turned-coworker was actually here and that he wasn’t hallucinating, but somehow it hadn’t hit him until then that he was sharing space with Steven Grant Rogers. They would breathe the same air, walk on the same floor, shit- they might even act in the same scenes. 

Never meet your idols, or you will be absolutely shitfaced scared and embarrass yourself in front of them. 

“Uh.” Bucky was full of deep and meaningful retorts today. 

“Yeah, that’s him. He goes by Bucky, though.” Natasha, ever the rescuer, stuck out her hand for Steve to shake

“Oh, cool.” Steven took her hand and they shook. “Thanks for letting me know…”

“Natasha. I’m head of sets.”

“Nice to meet you, Natasha. I’m Steve.” He gave an earnest smile.“Forgive me, I didn't think we’d be doing anything on set today.”

Natasha pulled her hand back, and her smile fell momentarily. “We aren’t.” She said, neutrally. 

“I have to talk to the head of lights since he’s made himself conveniently unavailable all month. This was the only day he was free.”

“Oh, Sam’s a good friend of mine. I’m sure there's a reason for his lack of availability ” 

Natasha scoffed, much to Steve’s oblivion, bitterly. The saga of her distaste for the head of lights- which, Bucky would like to point out, was unfounded as they’d never met in reality, was not one he’s like to hear about today. 

“Good luck.” Steve said “I look forward to working with you!”

“Likewise-” 

Just then, a man with one of those goatees that turn into thin beards, and a very professional Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T shirt walked in. 

“That’s my cue. I’m afraid you’re on your own, Barnes. Try not to Puss-”

“Bye, Nat” he said, a little too loudly. Natasha gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked away

“Are you two together?” Steven- or Steve ,as Bucky had the absolute luxury and pleasure of learning he went by, diverted his attention back to Bucky. His face fell after the question was met with silence. “Or.. I'm sorry, was that too invasive?”

“No, No you’re fine.” Bucky reassured, a bit too eagerly. “No.. we’re not together. We’ve just known each other since forever. I guess lines kinda blur after that long.”

“That sounds really nice.” he said, and it was so goddamn earnest again that Bucky dared to believe him 

“Yeah…” Bucky trailed off

Steve looked concerned, despite the amused smile he was hinting at. “..Are you alright?”

“Wha- Oh, yeah. Yeah, i’m fine- great, actually. It’s just-” 

_ Deep breaths _, Bucky reminded himself. Steve was just a regular guy. A regular jeans-wearing, soft-sweater-over-collared-shirt-wearing guy. A normal guy who’s poster was on Bucky’s bedroom wall- and who would no doubt be overwhelmed if he came on too strong. 

_ Calm the fuck down, Barnes. _

“It’s just, I’m a really big fan.”

“Oh! Well, thank you. I’m flattered.” A smile, then a flash of muddled recognition. “Have I seen you in anything recently?”

“Probably not. Unless you watch a lot of bad sci-fi.”

He laughed. It was warm. “Humor me.”

“I was in _ Attack of the Planets, _if that does anything for you…” 

Bucky would rather not have the information that _ the _ SGR had seen the movie at all, let alone seen _ him _ in the movie. 

Bucky had all the evidence that there wasn’t a god he would ever need when Steve replied as if he had seen the film.

“...Oh.” And- bless his heart- Steve said it in a voice that implied how hard he was trying to be polite.

“Yeah, I know. You don't have to be nice. It's terrible.” Bucky sighed heavily, and was met by laughter- was that meant to be mean? It didn’t sound mean- “But, it gave me a job for five years, so I can't complain.” 

“I can certainly relate to being in terrible movies.I hate to criticize, and if anyone asks, I never said this, but I don't think I've been in a good movie in five years.” 

This time, Bucky laughed, also not unkindly. “What, so _ Turbo Diesel _didn't do it for ya?”

“I guess it's no secret, then.” 

“Nope.” Bucky popped the ‘P’ and felt himself start to relax. 

In the furthest, darkest depths of Bucky’s mind, he’d imagined what it would be like to meet SGR- Steve. What it would be like to meet _ Steve. _

He’d imagined they’d be at a fan meetup, or at a Broadway stage door, or at Comic Con if Bucky ever got up the guts to go, and SGR would be charming and experienced, and larger than life. They’d take a photo, Bucky would say that he was a fan- that Steve had made him want to start acting, imbued in him a love of theatre that never truly left him. He’d say that Steve was what made him keep acting, even if the stuff he was in sucked sometime, even if a crowd of die hard fans overwhelmed him and made him dread the experience of going to work every day because they knew where he filmed, and where he lived and he was fucking terrified one of them would find him with his guard down. 

And fantasy Steve would smile diplomatically, and thank him, and tell him to never stop believing as he handed him a signed Bond action figure. 

He never imagined the great SGR would be so understated- so quietly and simply kind.He wasn’t overwhelming, or sweating gold and Bucky wasn’t turning to dust before his eyes. The guy was wearing _ Jeans _. He’d introduced himself as Steve, as if everyone in the room didn't know who exactly he was. 

Bucky wasn’t underwhelmed, is the thing. If anything, he was even more in awe of Steve than before.

“This is gonna sound nuts. But I’ve imagined meeting you before, and it wasn’t like this.” There was no use in trying to hide it- it was probably written all over Bucky’s face like ink anyway. 

“Really.” It wasn’t a question, but he sounded genuinely surprised anyway. “How do I hold up, then?”

“Well, you’re not glowing, for one.” Steve let out a single sound of amusement, like the very beginning of a laugh cut short. “And I may have imagined you riding in on a motorcycle, or some ridiculously expensive car.”

“I may yet still,” Steve said, feigning horror “Teslas are gonna save the earth, but at what _ cost _?”

Bucky laughed. “I like this version better, I think. ”

“Oh.” Steve said, and it was a testament to all the different ways the word could be said. Where before, it was saccharine and strained, now Steve said it curiously- and, if Bucky was really going to look this far into it, he could say it was a little relieved too.

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a very succinct clearing of someone’s throat. 

“Hello, all! You all should know who I am by now, but in case the rock you've been living under doesn't have internet reception, my name is Tony Stark, and I am the executive producer, as well as the only living survivor of this film.” 

The room broke out in applause. Tony smiled warmly at the crowd, winking when his eyes met Steve’s. Steve tried for annoyance, but eventually a smile cracked through. 

To Tony’s right stood a kid who appeared to be fresh out of high school, and way out of his depth at a Hollywood read through. He clutched the clipboard in his hands like it was the bible, and looked around the room owlishly, a smile of excitement playing on his lips. 

“I've tried my best to put together a dream team for this movie especially. All of you are the best i could ask for, find, or bribe, and I think you all deserve a round of applause for that.”

The room obliged as Tony confirmed was Bucky was suspicious of; that everyone in the film knew Tony personally. Or, at the very least, Steve did, and he knew Natasha had done sets for Stark before. Which, Bucky figured,once again made him the odd one out. 

He pushed aside the feeling of isolation that came over him, and joined in the applause.

“As you all should know by now, this movie is incredibly important.” Tony’s face fell serious now

He was finished playing up and playing off his involvement in the movie, and instead looked different crew members in the eyes, his gaze carrying a sense of urgency. 

“It's not only a story that I think will help a lot of people, it's helped me to become closer to my own family, and begin to understand it. Bruce has done an amazing job on the script, and I hope all of you love it as much as we do.” 

The room applauded for the third time today, and Tony had to wait to speak again.

“Unfortunately, I can't join you for the read through today, but before Mom leaves I should introduce you to the babysitter.” 

The kid beside Tony flushed when he clapped his shoulder. “Peter here is still a student, so be gentle, but he’s a genius with a camera, and is currently interning at Stark Productions.” Peter gave a tiny wave from behind his clipboard, still nervous. 

“I wouldn't have anyone else assistant direct.” 

Tony looked at his watch abruptly, then up at the clock. “...And I would introduce your director too, except that he hasn't arrived yet.”

“I imagine the read through will start whenever he decides to bless us with his presence. I have to go, but good luck today everyone; go make some magic; Class dismissed. ” 

With that, he gave Peter’s shoulder a friendly shake, picked up his bag, and walked out of the room.

The crew began dispersing, as the flow of conversation started up again. Bucky spotted Natasha in the corner, talking to Sam with her eyebrows drawn. She was poised against the wall, paper crushed between her hand and hip. Sam was nodding in understanding. 

“Hi, uh, excuse me.” Bucky and Steve looked down to find Peter approaching warily.

“Hello!” Steve said, conversationally. Peter smiled at him, before diverting his attention to Bucky.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but were you in _ Attack of the Planets _?” 

“Uh, hey!” Bucky was stunned. It wasn't that he'd never gotten noticed before, it's just that when he was recognized, it was rarely quite this calm. “Yeah, I was. Are you a fan?”

“Not exactly..” Peter looked like he was proceeding with caution. “It's just. So my friends, my girlfriend and I have this podcast, right? We kind of make fun of bad movies? Well, not make fun of them, so much as Watch them and explain what made them bad, and how to improve them. And we make jokes.” 

“Like _ Mystery Science Theater _?” Steve asked, smiling like something was amusing.

“Yeah, exactly!” Peter pointed at Steve, as if jumping off from his comment. “We had an episode on it, and. It's not that good- You were good though!.”

“Its okay, kid.” Bucky said, good naturedly. “You don't have to pretend.”

“No, seriously! It's kind of become a meme on the podcast.” Peter talked with his hands, which should have been inhibited by the clipboard in them, but he seemed determined to have it not be. “Whenever someone in a movie is the only good person in it, we call them a _ Buchanan _.”

“Oh! Well, thank you. I'm flattered.” Bucky looked up at Steve at the repetition of his words. “I go by Bucky, just so you know.”

“Okay, Bucky! I'm Peter. You knew that.” He took a deep breath, eyes glued to the floor. When he finally looked up again, his nervousness was contained. “I'm going to go say hi to more of the cast. It was nice to meet you Bucky- Oh, and you too, Steven. Steven Grant Rogers. SGR. Whatever you like to be called.”

“Just Steve’s fine. Nice to meet you too.” Steve shook Peter’s free hand, and he ran off.

“What?” Bucky said at Steve’s amused expression- _ seriously _, what was so goddamn funny? “What is it?” 

“Nothing.” Steve’s look didn't go away. “It’s just- are you _ sure _ I haven’t seen you in anything recently? Like, within the month?”

“Other than _ AOTP _? Not likely”

“Oh..” Here it was again; this time, it was surprised, lighter than before. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” came an accented voice from behind Steve.

“Peggy!” Steve whirled around, and excitedly greeted the woman in question with a hug.

“Hello, Steve!.” Peggy was shorter than Steve, and had to reach in order to hug him. Steve looked like he was making a conscious effort not to touch the dark ringlets that fell from Peggy’s head onto her back. 

When they broke the hug, Peggy looked down at the dog that sat calmly at Steve’s feet.

“Good morning, Maximus” She said, formally, as if addressing royalty. She made no effort to seek his attention beyond the formal greeting, as if not wanting to disturb his focus.

Maximus wagged a long, white tail, and blinked up at her, almost impassively, before focusing himself back on the ground. Steve scratched behind his ear

“And you must be James.” Peggy stuck her hand out to shake in lieu of the more familiar hug she gave Steve, which Bucky silently thanked her for.

“Peggy. I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise."

Someone to their side cleared their throat loudly, and Bucky locked eyes with the man in question, through his wide-rimmed glasses that Bucky somehow doubted he needed, and a scarf that was so thin there's no way it provided any warmth.

“Hello, my name’s Quentin Beck.”

He stood at the edge of the table, relaxed, as if he didn't enter 15 minutes late with a coffee cup and no excuse. 

To his left was Natasha, who looked very much the opposite, and was clearly without the good mood she had entered the room with.

“A lot of you may know me as just the Director. Some of you know me from my years on _ To Catch a Murderer _, but I hope that you'll all come to know me as a friend.”

There was light applause from around the room, including from Peter, who tried to applaud with his clipboard but was finding difficulty.

“Unfortunately, we don't have any scripts for you today. They had to undergo some light edits- you should find the updated versions in all of your inboxes by this time tomorrow.” 

Steve stared blankly ahead of him. Peggy’s cleanly arched eyebrows were tightly knit. An odd feeling of confusion settled over the room as Beck stepped down from his metaphorical pedestal, and conversation stiltedly began again.

Bucky tried to feel happy about the project as Peggy and Steve made an imitation of pleasant conversation beside him, but he couldn’t help the nagging uneasiness he felt about it. He couldn’t place his finger on why, either, which perhaps made it even worse.

Because there _ was _something- something in Natasha’s frown as she and Sam had argued back and forth, or the way Beck has addressed the cast wasn’t right. 

He tried to set it aside, unaware of how big a mistake that would come to be. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They read the script, Bucky gets an email, and the real questions are asked

“It”s shit!”

“I know, Bucky.”

“Complete, Total, Ultimate shit.”  
  
“I _ know _ , Bucky.” Natasha repeated from over the phone, her own irritation thinly veiled.   
  
Bucky was sitting cross-legged on his bed with the script in his lap, wondering what kind of karma had brought him to this moment. Although newly printed, the cover was wrinkled and dog eared. 

None of that was to say it was well-loved. Quite the opposite- Bucky noticed about ten minutes into his read through that he was wringing the front page with his hands, his knuckles white from pressure.   
  
“Natasha, I may have to go back to therapy because of this script.”   
  
“I’ll send you some numbers.” Natasha deadpanned. Bucky could tell she was restraining herself- he could all but hear her sharpening knives in the background- and silently thanked her for the attempt to calm him down.   
  
“It's like- Okay.” Bucky turned into his back, forgoing the rest of the script and listening to Natasha, phone held between his ear and shoulder. “Its like whoever wrote it was _ trying _to make it bad.”

“It does give that impression.” 

“Does it feel to you like Margaret and William are mad at each other for no reason the whole time? And like- why can't they be together? They keep saying it can never happen.” 

“Yep.”

“It's never explained and I'm honestly just confused and exhausted.” Bucky let out a sound of frustration. “Is that what it's like to be straight??”

“Confused and exhausted? Yes.” There was the sound of drilling, and shouting from over the phone.

“What's going on over there?”

“Sets.”

“Weren't you supposed to be done months ago?”

“We were supposed to.” Natasha betrayed her anger for the first time, and it was potent. “Sam made it pretty clear that wasn't going to happen.”

“What did he even do?”

“Ghosted me for most of the production, then told me he needed side lights in the _ exact place _ as the camera guy’s rigging, which I covered _ expertly _ but now have to rip up because the guy won't use overhead lights like a normal fucking person.” 

“What set is this for? Maybe you can-”

“Normandy. There's a Normandy set.”

“What?” Bucky raised his voice and heard the echo on the other end. “Like. The fields?”

“Yeah.” Natasha yelled something to a stagehand, and the sounds of construction started up again, and Bucky was joking earlier, but now he would not be surprised if Natasha actually was sharpening knives.

"How am I supposed to recreate a battlefield in a fucking parking garage! How, Bucky?"

  
"I dunno, Nat-"

  
"But no, we can't shoot on location, this project has to be 'home grown' and 'serve as a love letter to New York.' It's a World War 2 movie, not west side fucking story!" Natasha all but growled on the other end, frustration orchestrated by the sounds of woodcutting.

“I dunno, Nat!” 

After a few more construction noises, and what sounded like Natasha dropping her phone, Bucky asked if everything was alright.

“Yeah. Clint’s throwing a fit. I gotta go.”

“Bye, Nat.” 

Bucky got the impression Natasha’s hands would be full- both literally and figuratively- so he hung up on her behalf, tossing his phone onto the bed in front of him.

_ Of course _ the script was bad. Bucky shouldn't even be surprised- when things seemed too good to be true, that's because they were. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up- he should have known it would only set him up for disappointment.

Still, a part of Bucky wasn't quite as disappointed as he should have been. A small part, insignificant really, thought being on set with Steve was worth it, no matter what garbage they were saying. 

And, really he couldn't stress it any more than he already had, the script was garbage.

The blanket in front of him started to buzz, and Bucky unlocked his phone to find a new email from an unfamiliar (but not unrecognizable) address.

> _ From : [ CapSGR@aol.com ](mailto:CapGrogers@aol.com) _
> 
> _ To : bu [ ckrogers@gmail.com ](mailto:Buckrogers@gmail.com) _
> 
> _ Subject: We both share names with presidents _
> 
> _ Bucky! _
> 
> _ I knew your name sounded familiar! I went home and googled you right away, and found my answer in the 15th President of the United States! _
> 
> _ Did you know James Buchanan was the only president to remain a bachelor for the entirety of his time in the white house? _
> 
> _ That's about the only interesting thing about him, He was a pretty terrible. But so was Ulysses S (Steven) Grant, so we’re even! _
> 
> _ Is that weird? I'm sorry if that was weird. _
> 
> _ Anyway, I hope I didn't catch you too off-guard with the email, I remembered far too late last night that I hadn't actually asked for your contact info. It's a good thing we're all on the same mailing list! _
> 
> _ I was wondering if you wanted to meet me and Peggy for brunch some time. I figured it would be good for us all to talk shop and get on the same page before we start shooting. I know Peggy pretty well- she's a dream to work with, and incredibly talented. She also does a bunch of charity work, and probably qualifies as a saint. I think you'll like her a lot. _
> 
> _ I’ll attach my phone number, in case you (completely understandably!) don't want to communicate like we're in the stone age. I'm looking forward to us working together! _

Bucky read the email, then read it again, then closed his email tab and opened it again, and read the email a third time, just to make sure. 

Steve emailed _ him _ . Steve, being of sound mind and body, actually took the time to not only find his email, but to write to him personally. _ By himself _. 

And it had a dumb subject line, and he used exclamation marks after every paragraph, and he signed off the email with just a simple “-Steve”. Not Steven, not SGR, not _ the office of the manager of movie star Steven Grant Rogers. _Just Steve.

Bucky had to remind himself, again, that as far as he was concerned, SGR _ was _ Just Steve. He had to make that switch, because if he didn't, it would make their working together all that much worse. Bucky couldn't very well freeze up and hyperventilate whenever Steve looked at him because, if they're playing best friends, it's Steve’s _ job _ to look at him. Getting all starry-eyed over SGR would just be inconvenient for the both of them.

Bucky took a deep breath and scrolled to to Steve’s phone number- took a moment to register that he _ now knew Steven Grant Rogers’ actual phone number _\- and put it in his contacts, casually, under “Steve”.

It was weird. It was gonna be weird. It might always be weird, but Bucky would fight through it because what other choice did he have? He couldn't quit, god knows he needed the money. Besides, Natasha (and probably his mom and sister and therapist) would kill him if he tried.

Plus, Steve was _ looking forward to them working together _.

The script was terrible, the production teams were already fighting, and Bucky got a sense that filming wouldn't be much better. And yet, it was completely to Bucky’s surprise that he didn't dread it. He couldn't say that he was excited, but he didn't feel sick at the thought.

That had to count for something, didn't it? 

* * *

Bucky didn’t have time to wonder whether or not he had the right place, because as soon as he walked into the restaurant, Peggy and Steve were waving him over. 

“James!”

“Bucky!” The two of them said at the same time, in nearly the same tamber. 

Peggy got out of her seat to let him in on the other side of her, which meant Bucky was sitting near the window of their booth, cornered by two powerhouses, and a dog.

Bucky was really, genuinely trying to push his feelings of insecurity, and just overall weirdness down as far as they would go, but sliding into a booth, eating brunch next to Peggy “Three Academy Awards” Carter and Steven Grant mcfucking Rogers wasn’t helping. Steve’s hair was slicked back cleanly, and he was wearing a polo that looked soft from a table away. Beside him, Peggy looked straight from a movie set, as clean and as polished as nobody ever was. They were both effortless in their polished, uncompromising flawlessness.

And there Bucky sat, hair overgrown, knowing he hadn’t eaten breakfast let alone brunch on what was easily six months. 

Bucky felt like a broken record when it came to all this insecurity stuff. It was always the same thing, every time, and he wouldn’t stop falling for it. It never stopped working. 

He would meet someone, or enter a new environment, and he would isolate himself, feeling too awkward to even say hello. In the event that his company was outgoing enough to break him out of his anxiety shell, Bucky would say something that wasn’t completely well received, or that was but Bucky couldn’t stop thinking that it wasn’t , and he wouldn’t let it go.

He would come to the immediate and irrational conclusion that the other people hated him and he should never see them again. 

The additional fact that he was starstruck by his present company didn’t help this, but at least Bucky was aware of it. At least he could try to thwart it, now. 

“Hi” Bucky slid into the booth, trying to pretend like his thoughts hadn’t just taken a sharp left turn for the insecure, and giving a small smile.

“We were just talking about-”

“Debating” Peggy corrected

“It’s not a debate if only one of us is right.”

“James can be the judge of that.”

“Fine.” Steve grinned at him, sighing. “We were _ Debating _ something very unimportant, but we’re this far in it already, so we might as well continue the argument to it’s natural extreme.”

“Excuse you,” Peggy swirled around the straw in her drink absentmindedly, eyes darting between Steve and Bucky. “It’s incredibly important.”

“What’s important?” Bucky must have looked as lost as he felt, because Steve started to laugh, though not unkindly. 

“Okay, do you think a hamburger counts as a sandwich?”

“I’m not sure…” Bucky answered after a while, “..Yes? No?”

It was after they had ordered. Bucky had taken the full time before then to really, seriously think it over.

If Steve and Peggy were taking it seriously, why shouldn’t Bucky? And besides, Steve wanted his input- they Both did- he might as well take his time, draw it out so it would be over later. 

“I say no, Peggy says yes.”

Peggy smiles at the waiter, handing him her menu, before turning a glacial eye towards Steve. “Because it is.”

“It Isn’t!”

“Let me explain it to you this way;” Peggy addressed her audience, like a true politician. “You walk into a burger place, but you don’t want a burger. You can replace the patty for a chicken breast, and that’s called…”

“A chicken sandwich.” Bucky finished tentatively, unsure where this was leading.

“Exactly! Therefore, a Burger is just a sandwich that you’ve been fixated on the name of.” She motioned to Bucky, as if he just proved her point. “I rest my case.’

\---------------

‘I don’t think max cares either way whether it’s a sandwich or not.” Steve said, pouring ketchup onto his fries. “He is a dog after all- meat is meat.”

“Max?” Bucky questioned, though he felt like he had heard the name before.

It was worth it, seeing Steve’s face light up. 

“Oh! Max is short for Maximus!” He said, motioning to his feet under the table, where Max lay, panting slightly. He was fluffy and white, and looked very professional in his vest.

“He’s my service dog,” Steve explained “Before you ask, that’s not like an emotional support animal. I’m not just looking for an excuse to take my dog places, he has actual therapy training...:”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” 

Did Steve really think he was going to accuse him of faking a service animal? Did someone do that? What asshole would even try, Bucky thought. 

“I was going to ask how old he was.”

Steve looked relieved, and right then Bucky decided right there he was going to ruin the life of whoever made Steve expect anything else.

“Oh! He’s five!” 

“Maximus.” Bucky asked, looking at Max under the table, who looked at him with regal indifference. “ Is that because he's big?”

Peggy smirked knowingly. Steve bowed his head sheepishly.

“Ah… no. He was actually pretty small when I first got him.”

“Now I reckon he's closer to the size of a horse.” Peggy leaned her cheek on her hand from the other side of the table.

Steve shot Peggy a look that Bucky didn't understand, then turned his attention away from her.

“I'm not going to stand for this bullying.” he said, dramatically leaning against the booth seats.

“I don't get it.” Bucky realized, helplessly, that he was smiling. The combined charm from both of his co stars must have been getting to him.

“He's named for the horse in Tangled.” Peggy said, looking at Bucky. “And Steve was surprised when he grew to the size of his namesake.” 

“I _ like _ it, okay!” Steve was smiling too, and although Peggy wasn't yet, there was a sparkle in her eye that betrayed how much she wanted to.

“I like it too.” Bucky felt comfortable enough to say, “I can appreciate the irony, even if it's not relevant anymore. A small dog named Maximus? That's great.”

“Hah!” Steve pointed to Peggy “You see? _ Someone _ appreciates my genius.”

“I never thought of it that way.” Peggy smiled at him, eyes warm and glittering. “And I doubt Steven did at the time either.”

\----------------------------------------

"So, Steve tells me you're active in charity work," Bucky brought up while they were all eating. He was procrastinating turning his attention to the massive, overwhelming stack of hashbrowns he had on the table in front of him, so he turned his focus to conversation.

"Oh, yes!" Peggy turned to him, fully engaged despite her food. "I started a charity years back in honor of my late brother, and I've been managing i ever since. We provide therapy to people who can't afford it, or whose insurance won't cover it."

"Peggy's insane at it." Steve interjected, stalling a second to finish chewing his food. "She's been robin hood-ing rich fucks for years."

"Wouldn't you count as one of those, ehm," She stalled around the word "_Rich Fucks? _"

"Not anymore, because you robin hooded all my money" Steve looked sheepish, and Bucky had a feeling it wasn't because of his charitable donations.

"Steve's a little embarrassed that he's in a different tax bracket than probably everyone else he works with." Peggy said, as if she had read Bucky's thoughts. "I suppose action movies pay well."

"Well, you don't do too terribly yourself, _Queen Victoria_"

"As you can very clearly see, James, the bullying goes both ways." Peggy sighed, shaking her head "Anyway."

"Anyway", Steve stabbed his eggs to punctuate his distinct _moving on _of the subject. "Peggy hosts a charity gala every year that rakes in millions, and it's always gorgeous and kind of amazing."

"Well, it's always in London. This year, I won't be so fortunate."

"I'm sure it'll be amazing!" Steve assured.

"It will be, once i find someone to help design and set up, and do literally anything so that it's not all on me."

"Where are you thinking of hosting," Bucky asked "I'm a native brooklyn-er, so maybe i can suggest some places if you don't know where to start."

"That's very sweet f you, James, but I already have a place in mind."

"Yeah, the Marriott Marquis."

"Oh, really?" It was in Times Square, and therefore clearly overpriced. When Steve said they raked in millions, he wasn't kidding. "Don't they have something like the largest ballroom in New York?"

"Something like it." Peggy took one last bite of her eggs. "29,000 square feet of money down the drain, but the donors expect large and expensive, and I like the donors' money, so here we are"

* * *

“Actually, No.” Bucky says after they all split the bill. “ I don’t think a hamburger is sandwich”

Steve started laughing, vindicated.

“How do you expect me to react to this betrayal, James?” Peggy asked, looking him in the eye intensely. “Certainly not lightheartedly.”

Bucky shrugged, relaxed. “I just think Steve’s right- as long as a Chicken burger and a chicken sandwich are different, there will always be a divide.”

Steve cackled with victory, and Bucky found that his eyes trailed his motion involuntarily.

\----------------------------------------

Bucky took the subway home that day in higher spirits than he remembered being in a while.

It was never that Bucky was alone per say- he always had Natasha, and she would always come with Clint, or Kate, or both of them together. They counted as people, Bucky guessed, although he would count them more as family than friends

Bucky had never really done_ this _, though. Going out with friends, good natured bickering about the nature of the hamburger. Losing track of time because you’re so caught u[ in the moment you forget to check the clock. 

He though it must have been like this when he and Natasha first met, but he doubts it. With them, it was like they had known each other all their lives, and all that was missing was for them to meet, fit in the missing puzzle pieces of both of their lives. They never needed to go through the stages of a friendship, or relationship, or anything else, because they had clicked so strongly, so instantly that there was no need for it. And now, years later, they were so comfortable with their progression, it was just routine to spend time with one another.

Bucky didn’t mind it, of course. Natasha was the closest friend Bucky had ever had, besides maybe his mom. It was nice having someone as close to you as you were to yourself, and know you twice as better.

It didn’t help the loneliness, though.

Bucky loved Natasha with all his heart, but she could be judgmental. She had hard opinions, and loved to share them, and Bucky didn’t always want to hear it. Even if she was right most of the time, because when was Natasha _not _right, sometimes the right answer was the wrong thing for him to hear. Natasha was closer to Bucky’s heart than anyone else in the world, which was why he couldn’t tell her about how he felt most the time. It would be like hurting someone else, spreading his darkness and rot to someone who didn’t deserve it.

Of course, Natasha found out eventually, and she had begged him to talk to her, but Bucky didn’t know if he could. He thought it might hurt too much.

This, this was new, though. Going out with friends, getting to know them. It has been so long that Bucky was certain he had forgotten how to do it.

It was really nice, and almost helped the lonely pit that always ate everything in Bucky’s chest, made it smaller, more shallow, so some happiness could slip through.

He liked being around Peggy- she was smart,and you knew it from one conversation. Her voice was clear and eloquent, and her humor was as dry as they come.

He liked being around Steve even more.

It was an odd shift, going from having posters on his wall with SGR on them to going to brunch with Steve, but Bucky felt he was handling it well. By the end of their outing, most of the novelty has worn off, and Steve had shifted into someone different in Bucky’s mind.

He was no longer a celebrity, no longer Bucky’s goal. The pedestal he once stood had been dismantled, and now all that was left was Steve. Steve, his coworker, his costar, his friend (maybe, if there were more brunches, and they went as well as this one did)

So, why did Bucky still feel light when he was around him?

Maybe that was a question for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooooooo do you smell that? bc it smells like slow burn to me. 
> 
> My favorite fact in the world is that Steve and Bucky are both named after inactive, wildly mediocre presidents, and i think Steve is dorky enough to realize this too.
> 
> The Marriott is a reference to my best friend's favorite fic of all time, All Those Things You've Always Pined For by Lavenderprose (i didn't even have to look that up, i just know from Memory bc they talk abt it so much). There'll be some clearer references later on
> 
> Come find me on Instagram and Tumblr, @Kopescetic!!!! Comments are always welcome!!!! there's more to come soon!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They start pre- production, More Tangled references, more anxiety, but Now with more Lesbians!!!!

“What are you doing here, Will?” 

“What do you think I'm doing here? It's my bunk too.”

Bucky turned around aggressively to face Steve from one side of the rectangle of tape on the ground that was supposed to be their bunk bed. 

“Bullshit. Why are you here?”

Steve looked awkward, too big for the small space, which Bucky guessed was by design. His co star’s shoulders were hiked up to his ears, and even through the shit script there was hurt and embarrassment rolling off Steve in spades. “To get my book, I left it here.”

It was the best run through they'd done so far, and it had only just begun. The air was charged with their fake anger, both of them letting it bubble to just below the surface, but not unleashing quite yet. There was something else too, underneath it- the same thing Bucky had felt was missing from the scene when he’d read it in his apartment. He still couldn’t quite figure it out, but it was filling up the space anyway, thicker than the anger.

“What do you want from me?” Bucky walked around the rectangle to confront Steve- or, Steve as William-, raising his voice. 

“Jesus Christ, Jack. S’not like everything I do is about you.” William looked like he was trying hard to be the picture of confidence. The quirk of his eyebrows and the light flush on his face were betraying him, though.

“No, but this is. Isn't it?” Appropo of the stage cues, Jack shoved Will roughly. Bucky was eager to meet Steve blow for blow (literally and figuratively), so he shifted his expression a bit. He made sure however hard his hands were against William, his gaze was razor sharp. “This is about earlier, isn't it?” 

“Would you just drop it? It was nothing personal! We couldnt’a gone on like that, Jack, and you know it!” 

“You just want to drop it? 13 years and you want to  _ drop _ it?” His voice shook.

“S’not like that! We can still...I mean, we'll still talk.”

“You want to drop it.”

“Don’t you?”

The “no” he spat back scraped the back of his throat on exit.

“Well maybe you should.”

“Ya know what Will? You're right. You’re always so fucking right. Maybe I should just do everything you tell me from now on because you’re  _ clearly _ the expert in everything.” Jack is yelling himself hoarse now, and William’s anger pours back into the room, buzzing and tangible.

“Jack-”

“I hope Margaret appreciates all the strides you've made towards finally teaching me how to be a person. Maybe I can even catch a dame with your careful guidance.” 

William’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. “That's not fair.”

“And you wanna know what else isn't fair? I'm invisible! I’m completely invisible next to you, and your glory or whatever. And for what? You’re not even smart enough to get into college, you stupid fuck! Always so smug and above me.” Jack shoved William again, hard enough this time that he fell back into the wall. 

Here, the conversation took a turn that didn't exactly make sense. Bucky was confused when he first read through it, but he wasn't going to dispute it. They were close, pressed up against each other and the wall.

“Drop it, Ja-”

“No,  _ you  _ drop it, if you wanted to drop it so bad, you wouldn't be here.” Jack taunted, moving in closer. They were breathing the same air, occupying the same space. 

In the script directions, it said “William goes for the throat”, and Steve pushed back into Bucky, knocking him into the opposite wall. They grappled for a while, Jack dealing lazy blows, and William blocking them. 

It ended with William’s hands around Jack’s throat. Steve gave the impression that he was applying pressure. They stayed like that for a while, catching their breaths into each other’s necks, before pulling away. 

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, proud. It was just a choreography rehearsal, but for the first time since they started filming, Bucky  _ felt  _ it.

Steve shot him a quick smile that told him that he felt it too.

“That was great, guys.” Carol, their fight choreographer, strolled over to them. She gave them a thumbs up which, Bucky was learning, was high praise coming from her. “Really good energy.”

“Thanks.” Steve said it to Carol, but he was looking at Bucky, still smiling. Bucky smiled back, a little shyly.

“Uh, my right hook-” Steve broke the spell eventually, turning his attention to Carol with a slight shake of his head. “Did I…”

“Yeah,” Carol leaned up against the wall facade Steve had pressed Bucky up against. She crossed her legs in front of her. “Your elbow was too high, so it's going to land around the side of his head, which just kinda looks weird. You're gonna wanna start lower, like from around the waist.” She talked with her hands, demonstrating the punch to the air

“Right, right.” 

“And James, You look like you’re holding back.” She turned her attention to Bucky, who nodded. “Not with the line deliveries- those were great- with your hits-”

They went on like that for a while, workshopping, rerunning, going over battle choreography with just them, then later on with extras. All of it entailed being so close to Steve he could reach out and touch him with minimal effort, being so close that they would accidentally touch many times, and just plain touching.

It was just a part of the job- they were playing two characters who would be fighting, interacting, touching, and so they had to. Steve was just doing his job, and Bucky had no right to react like it meant anything special. 

He felt like a creep- hyper-aware of every time their hands would brush while in fight formation, of when Steve- William Stark- would sling his arm around Jack Johnson’s shoulders and lean his body into him. It wasn't a big deal. So, why did Bucky feel like it was? Why couldn't he just be normal about it?

They re-ran the scene, but their hearts weren’t in it. It was 15 minutes until their lunch break, and Carol was just looking for the hits to land correctly, not for line delivery. Their movements loosened up, tone of the scene blown to hell. 

“Jack-” Steve turned his attention dramatically towards Bucky, milking the word for all it was worth in a way that made it hard to hold back a smile.

“I hope Margaret appreciates all the strides you've made towards finally teaching me how to be a person. Maybe I can even catch a dame with your careful guidance.” Bucky, conversely, poured all of his energy into making the line as dry and dead as possible. 

“That's not fair.” Steve amped up the drama, smiling. He even put a hand against his forehead as if he was going to faint

“And you wanna know what else isn't fair? I'm invisible. I’m completely invisible next to you. and your glory or whatever. And for what. You’re not even smart enough to get into college. you stupid fuck. Always so smug and above me.” Bucky was smiling now too, slowing down his speech so he sounded like he was reading from a book. 

“Drop it, Ja-” 

“No,  _ you  _ drop it.” It was hilarious, Bucky couldn’t keep himself from laughing anymore. He was pretty sure Steve was shaking with put-upon anger, he was hyperventilating, spitting out his words like they hurt his tongue. “if you wanted to drop it so bad, you wouldn't be here.”

When William went for the throat, that’s when Bucky lost it. 

It wasn’t really what he was doing so much as how he was doing it. Steve started wailing on him like was in the script, but he was red in the face with exaggerated anger. Bucky was hitting back and blocking just like choreographed, but he was laughing hysterically. When Steve pinned him against the wall, he slammed his head against it, laughing harder. 

At the end of the scene, when their faces were a hair's breadth away, Steve cast his gaze down suddenly, puckering up his lips like Flynn fucking Rider, and it was too much, Bucky couldn’t breathe.

“Bro. Jack. What if we kissed right now bro. Wouldn’t that be wild, bro?”

Bucky was cackling at this point, and Steve’s smile was splitting his face. 

“Bro..” Bucky was out of breath, giggling 

“ _ Bro.” _

“Okay,” Carol said, coming on set, shaking her head through her laughter. “That’s enough. Bro. That was amazing.”

“Yeah?” Steve pulled away, grin going lopsided. He ran a hand through his hair. Bucky felt his heart pounding in his throat.

“Yeah. Do it just like that when the cameras roll.”

Bucky barked out a laugh “Oh, Beck would  _ castrate _ us.”

“Completely.”

“I’m serious, guys. The fighting there was perfect.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Carol looked at him, excited “You loosened up! What have I been telling you since we started?”

“That I’m weak and history will forget me.”

“I’m serious.” 

Carol talked with her hands. A lot. Now, she was making a pleading gesture to him, balling her hands into fists in front of her.

“That I’ve been holding back.”

“Yes! And you were amazing just now!” She was practically jumping with excitement, grabbing the air as if it were tangible. “We have to take a picture to commemorate it.”

And so they did, with Steve holding his hand out as far as it would go to get all 3 of them in the picture. His arm was around Bucky as he did it, and he felt his heart skip a beat-

What? Why was it doing that? They were just taking a picture, nothing weird about it. Bucky got that feeling again- the one from earlier when they were rehearsing. When Steve’s face was inches away from his own, his arms framing Bucky’s face as he braced them against the wall. He felt like he wasn’t allowed to think about it- that it was somehow wrong. Like he didn’t deserve to dwell on it like he did. 

So he wouldn’t. Bucky stiffened his shoulders, and Steve moved his arm away, awkwardly. They took the picture. 

“Who’s that?” Carol had asked at lunch, pointing to the username on Steve’s phone of someone who had commented. 

“Oh, that’s Val!” Steve said, stabbing a leaf from his salad. “She works at that Burger place on 5th.”

“Hm.” Carol put down her sandwich, and picked up Steve’s phone, her eyes flashing with interest. She clicked over to her profile, and turned the phone around to show Bucky. “What do you think?”

“Uh.” Was the intelligent reply Bucky had to offer.”Sorry, I’m not really a good person to ask.”

“That’s okay, dude.” She took the phone back, looking at it thoughtfully “Steve, can you give her my number?”

Steve choked on a piece of Kale, surprised “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” 

* * *

After a much needed water break (because of the fight training...no other reason) Bucky found himself wandering the set. 

It was the day before they would begin shooting for real, and Bucky wasn't  _ thrilled _ about it, but at least Natasha would be there, and he got to yell at things. And he got to be near Steve, which he was looking forward to more than he'd ever admit.

The novelty of being near  _ the _ SGR had mostly worn off at this point, but Bucky was surprised to find he still felt nervous to be around him. If it wasn’t that Steve was a famed actor that was making him nervous…

He’d think about it later. 

After rounding one of the set’s many corners, Bucky encountered a hallway of rooms that must have been for costume design, given the frazzled look of the place. Looking in one of the rooms, Bucky saw people covered in scraps of fabric,and thread, and there was glitter on the floor even though Bucky doubted where they'd ever use it in a World War 2 period drama. He could hear the noise of sewing machines mixed with some foreign pop music, mixed with some sort of angry country music. 

The whole hall looked like a circus of chaos, and the frazzled woman darting in and out of the rooms, shouting as she went, looked like the ringleader. 

She was wearing the kind of paint-splattered, ripped jeans that Bucky was convinced had gotten that way due to genuine wear, and not for fashion purposes. She was wearing reading glasses, her curly gold hair pulled back with a headband. She too had glitter on her, inexplicably.

“You.” She addressed him after speed-walking out of the room that Bucky was just peering into, almost accusatory “You here to try on a costume, or what?”

“Uh, I'm just looking around.”

“Then look around near makeup, you're in the way. Oh wait, that's also here, because why would we need any more than one fucking hallway for two entire departments, or more than one person to head two departments because of course we wouldn’t do that,  _ that _ would make  _ sense.” _

“Okay… this is the costume department, right?”

“The one and only. You lookin' for something else?”

“If now isn't a good time, I can come back later..” Bucky scratched the back of his head self-consciously. “But, uh, while I'm here, when am I supposed to come in for a fitting.”

“You haven't come in for a fitting yet?”

“No, uh. I didn't know to-”

“You have gotta be shitting me.” 

“I'm not-” Bucky started to say, before the woman pulled him into one of the rooms. “I didn't know. Nobody told me.”

“Didn't you think it was a  _ little _ suspicious that we start filming  _ tomorrow  _ and you've never been fitted?” 

“Im sorry, I didn't know where to go.”

“To the Costume Department!”

“I didn't know where that was!”

“Whatever!” 

The woman fumbled with the tape measure, making Bucky stand up, sit down, and take on a variety of other poses, all while cursing under her breath, and shaking. 

“Uh, I'm Bucky, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.” She turned him around and measured the distance between his shoulders.

“Claire was talking about you earlier, so I figured, I said to myself ‘hey, she probably took his measurements and is working on his costumes without even being asked, how great is  _ that _ . One less thing to worry about.’ But as it apparently fucking happens, she  _ didn't,  _ because she's  _ Claire _ and of  _ course _ she didn't do something that needed doing without being asked, she can't even do things that need doing when you  _ ask  _ her.” 

“Uh. And.. Your name is?”

She flipped him back around and moved his arms into a T pose to measure around his chest “Angie. Don't forget it- it'll be in your nightmares.” 

Angie accidentally punched him at least five times in her haste. She was breathing heavily, and didn't seem to be able to read the tape by the way she squinted and blinked at it.

“Are you...okay?”

“ _ No _ !” She tried to meet the two ends of the measuring tape together with shaking hands, and her eyebrows knit together in frustration when they wouldn’t meet.

“Okay.” Bucky took the tape away from her and set it down on the table next to him, next to a heavy pair of fabric shears. “I think you should, uh. Take a second.” 

Angie’s eyes were wide and a little crazed. “Take a second  _ what.” _

_ “ _ Just- try to breathe.”

“I  _ am _ breathing, dickwad.” She snapped, squeezing her eyes shut and facing her head towards the ceiling. “Sorry- I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. That much.”

“It’s okay. Maybe you should sit down?” 

She laughed a little at that, but it was clipped and as aggressive as her mood. “I haven't sat down since Monday.” 

“Today  _ is _ Monday.” 

“Last Monday.” 

Just as Bucky was about to run out of ideas, there was a gentle knock at the open door.

“Is everything alright in here?”

It was Peggy, miraculously, with a look of concern on her face, and perfectly composed where Angie wasn't. 

“Peachy.” Bucky and Angie said at the same time, and she shot him a look. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked, as casually as he could manage. 

“I was just looking around. Is everything alright, Angie?” Peggy asked again, coming in between her and Bucky. 

“Nope. Not at all. Not in any way.”

“It doesn't have to be- why don't you tell me what's wrong.”

And that was all it took for Angie to collapse into herself- crumpling into the chair Bucky had offered for her earlier. Her hands still shook as she pressed them against her eyes, her shoulders joining them.

The room went silent, there was only the soft pulsing of an electronic beat- Bucky thought it sounded like  _ every time we touch _ , but he wasn't about to think about it at the moment- to muffle the sounds of Angie crying. 

Bucky didn't know how to handle this. He knew how it  _ felt,  _ yeah, but knowing what something was like, and knowing how to handle it were two different things. And, if there was one thing Bucky was for certain terrible at, it was handling it. He wanted to leave, but he needed a costume. And he had a feeling having to track him down for measurements would make Angie feel even worse.

But Peggy seemed to know what she was doing. She knelt in front Angie, close enough to make her presence felt, but with enough distance between them so as not to crowd Angie. She was speaking to her in calm, hushed tones, and slowly, watching out for signs she was making it worse. When no sign arose, she tentatively put a hand on Angie’s arm, still watching. 

Eventually, Angie picked her head up, wiping her eyes and smiling ruefully. “Sorry, that was, uh. Unproductive.”

“Don't apologize,” Peggy said, still talking in the same calming tone as earlier, her smile genuine. “James and I have nothing further to do today- why don't you tell us what's wrong, and we can try to help.”

Angie looked at Peggy like she was the sun and stars, and the entire goddamn galaxy. “Yeah, thanks…” 

* * *

It was about 1 in the morning, and Bucky has about a million needle pricks in his hand, and his back was tired from hunching over the same machine, but he felt like something had been accomplished.

Peggy had taken a temporary leadership position- something Bucky was beginning to think she was especially talented at, despite how little she let on, organising the large stack of work and distributing it so it was only a small stack for a large number or people.

Bucky knew at least someone would fall through- they all did, but at least this was there was a kind of group pressure and ridicule to pull those people together. He swore- Peggy had the strategic mind of a war general. 

Next, all 3 of them had locked themselves in a room and dug out all the initial concept sketches Angie had made during the first week of production, and tried to translate them into reality. They dug out old costume pieces and tailored them to fit, borrowed an Extra uniform and sewed extra patches onto it- because  _ Jack was a Lieutenant, he should be represented as such-  _ and at some point, walked down to the local thrift store and bought their entire supply of suspenders. At some point, Bucky had gone all the way home to grab an old bomber jacket his mom had handed down to him, only to discover it wasn't ‘Period Accurate’ and was therefore useless.

By the end of the night (morning?), all three of them were Exhausted, dehydrated, and starving.

“I heard there was a new burger joint nearby,” Angie said, while waiting for her hot glue gun (the third of the night, the first two had either jammed up or flat out broken) to heat up. “Risky Fixins?”

Peggy was ironing all of the finished pieces and hanging them up on racks. “Yes, I've heard of it. Steve told me he went there the other night.”

“Steve?” Bucky had looked up abruptly from his phone, from which he was trying to learn to tie a tie with one hand- because Jack Johnson was an Amputee, and Bucky was a Serious Actor and not at all bored- and was met with a look like he had just given away his darkest secret.    
  


“...what?” Bucky tried to loop the fat side of the tie around the thin side, but got the two tangled up and had to restart.

“Nothing…” Peggy said, amused at something invisible.

“Your face just lit up like a Christmas tree, and for what? Burgers?” Angie set down her glue gun and looked at Bucky like he was see-through. 

Bucky sent the full force of his attention back on his tie. He wasn't even tying it with his left hand, because Jack Johnson lost his left arm, and it doesn't  _ matter _ that bucky is left handed because he is, Again, a very serious actor with very serious practices. “Uh, Yeah? I'm Hungry- I mean. I don't know what you mean.”

_ “ _ And you're playing  _ Best Friends _ . God, Barnes I wouldn't switch with you for a million bucks.”

“I- There's-” Bucky gave up on the tie, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “There's nothing going on, okay? I just heard a name I recognized and looked up!”

“Okay, jeez, I was just kidding,” 

“I'm sure that's the case, James.” Peggy said kindly, hanging up a bomber jacket that  _ was _ period accurate next to the other costumes. 

They were just being stupid. Nothing was going on- why would it? They were coworkers who had a lot of mutual respect for one another. Nothing weird about that. 

They were just being stupid. 

Anyway, it was 1 in the morning when the three of them collapsed onto bar stools at Risky Fixins and ordered the largest burgers they'd ever seen in their lives. 

“You actors.” The cook- Thor, as he introduced himself-had said to them, conversationally leaning over the other side of the bar. “Always burning the candle at both ends.: 

“I'm not sure that's a stereotype.” Bucky mumbled around a fry.

“And only two of us are even actors.” Angie agreed, licking some of the ice cream from the straw in her milkshake.

“No, but. True.” 

Thor was a big guy with choppy blonde hair. He talked to them like they were old friends and not a trio of night dwellers with hot-glue blisters, telling them stories of his life back home in Norway. 

His parents died when he was in college- which is  _ free _ there, by the way- and he and his brother had decided to part ways after dropping out of school to take care of them in the later years of their lives. He said he moved to the U.S to put some distance between himself and what made him sad. 

He talked about how hard it was to leave, and how much he needed to with an ease that made Bucky jealous. Therapy must also be free in Norway if he was able to talk about it like this, casually leaning against the bar and talking with his hands, one of which had a spatula in it. 

A few times, the girl from Steve’s Instagram came in to get new late night deliveries, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. She and Thor playfully slung insults around, all with a strong undercurrent of affection that wasn't hard to detect.

“I'm Valkyrie, by the way.” She'd greeted them during a lull in the night, the soft sound of frying hamburger patties the only other prominent sound.”

They all quietly made their introductions, not wanting to disturb the odd, peaceful spell they were all under. 

“Are you from Norway as well?” Peggy asked, picking at her fraying jeans- the aftermath of the great scissor incident of earlier.

“No, London.” Valkyrie ducked behind the bar and leaned over it, mirroring Thor’s previous posture. “My parents just hate me.” 

“Word.” Angie said profoundly, preoccupied again with her milkshake. 

“Did Carol ever text you?” Bucky asked, finally remembering where he recognised her from. “She told us she wanted to the other day.”

“Yeah. Yeah she did.”Valkyrie quickly switched from cool indifference to sheepishness, averting her eyes. “We, uh. Went out earlier.” 

“You never told me that!” Thor whipped around from his spot at the grill “You went on a date?”

“Yeah, because I didn't want you to be weird about it!”

“Too bad.” Thor enveloped her in a hug, unaffected by Valkyrie’s attempts to squirm out of his grip “I  _ will _ be weird!”

They were there until the sun came up, glad that their call time wasn't until later that evening. Peggy had said her goodbyes and left a little earlier, her apartment being walking distance from the restaurant. 

Angie and Bucky were left sitting on the curb, watching supply trucks and drunks stroll lazily past. 

“I'm gonna ask her out.” Angie said, breaking the silence. “Tomorrow, I think.”

“Who?”

“Peggy.” 

Bucky nodded, after a while. “Okay.”

“What, you don't need an explanation?” Angie played with the ends of her hair, defensive attitude suddenly melting away.

“An explanation of what?” Bucky didn't follow wherever Angie was leading this. 

“That I'm asking out a woman! That I  _ like  _ girls!”

Bucky blinked at her. “Why would I need an explanation of that?”

“I dunno,,,” Angie ran a nervous hand through the back of her hair “Because I'm the costume person? Because- Because i don't  _ seem  _ gay?”

“What?” Bucky was dumbfounded- was Angie coming out to him? Why? He was convinced she hated him until that point. How did they suddenly switch from antagonistic measurement sessions to heartfelt curb talks? “..Has anyone reacted that way?”

“Well, yeah..” Angie turned to look at him, hand still tangled in the hair at the back of her neck. 

“That's stupid...nobody  _ seems  _ gay.”

“Well, I feel like most people expect to be able to tell…”

“ _ I'm _ gay.” Bucky made a frustrated hand gesture. “Could you tell?”

“Well-”

“Exactly, you couldn't” Bucky interrupted, making Angie smile. 

Before she could reply, Bucky’s phone buzzed, notifying him of an email. 

> From:  [ quentin.beck@mysterio.net ](mailto:quentin.beck@mysterio.net)
> 
> To:  [ buckrogers@gmail.com ](mailto:buckrogers@gmail.com) , and **269** others
> 
> Subject: Some Updates
> 
> Hello Team! 
> 
> I have been hard at work to make sure everything is perfect for shooting tomorrow. You all should be doing the same. 
> 
> I just wanted to remind everyone that there are  _ no  _ photos of the set allowed. We are confidential until advertisements start rolling out! If you post something that isn't allowed, I will have Instagram take it down. 
> 
> There are also  no pets allowed on set. This is a work environment, not a dog park. 
> 
> I will see you all tomorrow night.
> 
> -QB

Angie snorted next to him, where she was reading over his shoulder. “QB. Its like he thinks he's the quarterback.”

“Or the...Quail Blanket.” 

Angie laughed harder than was strictly necessary, and Bucky felt himself doing the same

“Question Bitch.”

“Queer Breakthrough!”

It was stupid. Like, really, it shouldn't even be funny at 1 in the morning stupid, but they'd had a hard day during a hard week of a hard shoot, and anything that wasn't screaming or crying was welcome. 

Their uber came a few minutes later, sequestering them both to a long night (morning) of sleeping before the Big Day. As he lazily watched the lights of the city fly past in the back seat, Bucky found himself surprisingly optimistic. Sure, the director was a douche and the set was a mess, but it would be their own special mess. 

And, hey! Maybe Quentin would pull it together last minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha...wishful thinking, bucky. 
> 
> i know i said Coming Soon but i'm anxious about getting it all out there, so Coming Soon actually means coming less than a minute later.
> 
> I feel like since Angie and Bucky have such strong personalities, they'd immediately clash, but eventually come to understand each other. I hope that came out (haha) well  
i actually didn't plan for Angie and Bucky to like, actually come out to each other, but i wrote that part on National Coming Out day, so i felt like it was only fitting.
> 
> stay tuned for,,,more,,, and by stay tuned I probably mean wait another 2 minutes!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres a lot of mental illness talk in this chapter- some of it may be triggering. It's mostly just Steve and Bucky talking through their respective issues.

Bucky shouldn’t have spoken so soon. 

3 months later, and production was in disarray. With a new edition of the script almost every time they tried to shoot, the last minute changes were impossible to keep up with, not to mention costing Bucky a fortune in ink and paper (because there are  _ no phones allowed on set _ and  _ its more authentic if you print it out _ . Douchebag.)

Bucky was pretty sure Quentin was just making it up as he went at this point. They were filming the scene where Jack and William were going off to war (a brand new scene put in .5 seconds ago by Quentin Beck that put production into an almost catatonic state of stress, having to organize the trailers and buses in under a week), where Margaret was kissing William goodbye and telling him to ‘be safe on his travels’ as if he were just going on an adventure and not the trenches at Normandy. 

Natasha, somehow, didn't get the memo, and showed up that morning, expecting a normal day of shooting. When she was hit in the face with the news they'd be actually on location that day, she tried to graciously voice her concerns to Quentin.

“Why don't you take the day off?” He asked her, though it wasn't a question.

As if that wasn't enough drama, the bus driver didn't allow Animals on, which meant Max couldn't come. When Bucky tried to bring up the fact that it was  _ illegal _ to turn away a service animal, Beck struck again. 

“I see you didn't care enough to read my Email, Steven. The one that explicitly states that pets are not allowed on set?” 

Steve said nothing, Peggy wouldn’t stop talking.

“Are you aware, Quentin, that it is illegal to reject a service animal according to New York State Law?”

“Are _ you _ aware, Margaret, That i am the director and can therefore reject whatever I want?”

Natasha offered to take Max home on her way back. Steve, after a tearful goodbye, still silent, boarded the bus. He was clearly on edge, so Bucky decided to stay out of his way, in case he would set him off. 

They were filming near a strawberry field on Long Island, which also made no sense because Margaret was British and also didn't meet William until he shipped out the last Bucky checked (but what did he know!). It was getting close to sundown, the sun casting a golden hue over the fields and their faces. 

It was kinda pretty, Bucky had to admit. The sun gilded the tall grass and strawberry plants, a soft breeze rustled through them. It moved all their costumes in a way that made the scene feel dramatic, even as they were acting it. The way the wind rustled through Steve’s hair, the way the sun stained his white button down goldenrod, how it reflected onto his glasses, the way- 

..to get back on track, filming would have been ideal if it wasn't for one person and it shouldn't take a detective to figure out who, 

“Margaret, what IS that accent.”

Quentin moved his hands in a cutting-off motion, his universal sign for ‘cut' (just use your words, douchebag) in the middle of Peggy’s line. 

“...My accent, Quentin.” She turned to face him, wearing a sundress and hat that were  _ definitely _ not period accurate, but that Beck had demanded was right for the scene (you can imagine how Angie reacted to that one)

“You’re a french nurse, it should sound like it.”

“Since when was she french?” Bucky asked

“Since when was she a Nurse?” Steve said beside him, quietly, so only he could hear. Bucky stifled a laugh. 

Beck rubbed his temples, as if  _ they _ were being hard to work with. “God, do any of you read the updated scripts? Just, take it from the top.”

They did. It wasn't much better. Between Peggy’s hastily assembled French accent, to the fact that Steve and Bucky could  _ not _ seem to hold it together through her deadpan delivery, no amount of golden hour sun or soft breeze could fix it. 

It didn't last long, though, since graciously the owners of the strawberry field arrived, along with the police. 

Apparently (and to the first of everyone’s knowledge), Beck hadn't filled out the paperwork for a filming permit. Nor  _ was _ there any paperwork. Nor did he even ask the tenants. And  _ Apparently _ , when they had confronted him earlier, when the cast was getting ready, he had basically told them to fuck off and come back with a warrant. 

Which they did. 

So they all moved the scene to a parking lot with a green screen, since the drivers for the busses wouldn't be back for another four hours and it wouldn't be helpful to waste even an inch of daylight. And, just as things were starting to settle down, the sky opened up, and out came heavenly rain. 

A lot of it. 

At this point, all the humor had drained from Bucky and Steve, and they realized almost simultaneously that when Beck had said  _ Perfect _ about the rain, he wasn't being sarcastic.

So they did the scene in the rain. Over. And over. And over, until beck, from his rooféd camera throne, was finally appeased by their performance.The ass seemed cruelly pleased by the power dynamic; him covered by a tarp, with a warm latte from the Starbucks in the shopping center they were in the parking lot of, and them drenched, un amused, and at his Beck (haha) and call. 

By the end, Peggy had a cold, Steve had twisted his ankle on a wet tarp when trying to dip Peggy during their kiss scene, and none of them were having it. And Bucky was starting to feel the fragile, blind optimism he clung onto for most of the shoot start to wash away. 

They were on the bus ride home now, nobody wanting to say a word. It was the kind of silence that came from exhaustion. Peggy sat, quietly sipping tea and sniffling in the back of the bus with Angie, who was trying to dry her hair with a moist towel. 

Bucky leaned his head against the window, and tried to make out shapes in the water droplets on the glass.

“Ugh.” Steve announced himself, looking dead on his feet. He eyed the seat beside Bucky. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Yeah, get out.” Bucky joked, moving his jacket to clear the way for Steve and waving him over “Come on.”

Steve collapsed on the creaky coach seat 

“Why is it that I changed out of my costume, but I still feel wet?” 

Bucky made a sound akin to an audible shrug. “Good old long island humidity.”

“ _ Ugh.” _

They sat in comfortable, moist silence for a while, listening to the rain assault the roof and slosh around near the tires. At some point, Steve took out his phone and started watching a video, smiling at it softly, the stressed notch between his eyebrows smoothing for the first time that day.

Somehow, gradually, slowly, the distance between them grew shorter. 

All Bucky had to do is move his head. Just slightly, minutely and head would be on Steve’s shoulder. He probably wouldn't mind either, they were so close already, it would barely be noticeable. 

But he couldn't. Bucky couldn't do that- he couldn't  _ let himself _ do that, even if he was close to admitting to himself that he wanted to. He felt like he didn't deserve it, like he would have to be more confident, less anxious, more sure of himself.  _ Better _ . He would have to stop thinking things that were terrible, doing things that were terrible,  _ being _ terrible. 

He couldn't do that, but he didn't have to. Because when he looked back, Steve’s head was resting on Bucky’s shoulder instead.

“Is this alright?” He asked, always so goddamn courteous, even when the other person didn't deserve it. Even when the other person didn't deserve courtesy at all.  _ Especially _ then.

“Yeah.” Bucky answered, when he realised it had been too long since Steve asked. “Yeah, it's fine.” 

It was more than fine. Steve's hair was still damp, little tendrils of hair stuck to his forehead and to Bucky’s neck, and there was rainwater soaking into Bucky’s t-shirt, yet the presence on his shoulder was warm. Solid. Comforting. 

He hadn't been this close to someone in so long bucky was starting to forget what it felt like. Sure, he and Natasha had passed the intimacy barrier long ago, but lately he’d been rejecting her hugs, putting physical distance between them when they sat together. Bucky wasn't really sure why he did it, but he knew it wasn't a good sign. 

There was something odd and disorienting about doing something you shouldn't, something you  _ know _ you shouldn't. You  _ know  _ it's going to hurt you later on, that it hurts now, and yet you make no effort to stop. Somehow, stopping hurts even more. 

He used to think it was like watching a car crash, and not being able to look away, or move, or anything. But now, he thinks its more like being in the car. Like taking a backseat to someone who shouldn't be driving, letting something dark and contagious and lecherous take the wheel. You could fight for control back, you have the ability to, but who’s to say the struggle won't crash the car? That you don't catch whatever it has, and  _ become _ it, that you don't disappear forever. 

So he pulls away from hugs too soon, offers a handshake instead, high fives, fist bumps. Denies himself human contact, and is altogether unsure why. 

Its not like he expects with Steve. It doesn't feel like an invasion. It just feels warm, and grounding. It feels like, just for a little bit, just for now, like the car stopped. Like the dark thing still has the wheel,and could start it up again, but the car isn't moving, and they can't crash even if it wanted them too. 

Maybe it's the stressful day they had, or the warmth of the bus, or the head on his shoulder, but they both fall asleep at some point in the ride. 

Natasha is there when Bucky wakes up, shaking his unoccupied shoulder.

“Come on.” Natasha had bags under her eyes, and looked somehow  _ more _ vigilant than she looked without them. She also looked more pissed off. “I'm your ride.”

Bucky said something unintelligible, causing Steve to stir next to him.

He must have looked a little too long at Steve, because Natasha rolled her eyes and said “ Im driving him too. His dog’s waiting in the car”

With that, Steve came to his senses. “Max?”

* * *

It seemed out of place for them to be celebrating.

Bucky didn’t mean that they shouldn’t- Clint couldn’t help when his birthday fell, or that everyone happened to be in low spirits when it fell. He deserved to have as nice a birthday as anyone did. Bucky just meant that being here, celebrating like they were felt out of place. Out of tone, like a scene that came out of nowhere.

Bucky sure did have a lot of experience with those

They were at Risky Fixins, because they all went so often that Thor had started giving them all an employee discount. It was surprisingly packed today- Val said they got half of the orders they got all week on Saturday; another unfortunate thing about when Clint’s birthday fell- and Thor, Valkyrie, and a few other people Bucky had never seen before were all rushing around.

One good thing about the day was that more people had attended than Bucky had originally expected. He was fully prepared for it to be just Him, Natasha, Clint, and possibly Kate sitting in a booth together, but Peter, Steve, Peggy, and Sam had all showed up.

Kate and Clint had a weird relationship- He had been her archery instructor since she was young, even giving her private lessons when the school he taught at fired him. Her parents- Derek and Eleanor Bishop- were both big tech moguls and were apparently richer than god, but couldn’t find it in their busy schedule of doing nothing to actually raise a child, so Clint had inadvertently taken up their position.

Kate wasn’t his daughter Officially- she had filed for liberation just this year and had been granted it without a second thought from her so-called Parents, and Clint had never thought about actually adopting her, but they had all known Kate since she was small, and there was no doubt in any of their minds that she was family along with the rest of them 

Natasha and Sam had seemed to be at a truce, which was at least another good thing, and Peter and Kate had seemed to be getting along well- apparently they went to the same school, and she listened to his podcast, and they were playfully debating the merits and demerits of their latest episode’s terrible movie.

But it was just like Beck to find a way to ruin it all in one fell swoop- to eat up all of the fragile happiness they tried to surround themselves in to try and cope. Because just as their food arrived, everyone who worked on the movie got a simultaneous notification, and none of them had to even check to know who it was from.

> _ From:  [ quentin.beck@mysterio.net ](mailto:quentin.beck@mysterio.net) _
> 
> _ To:  [ buckrogers@gmail.com ](mailto:buckrogers@gmail.com) , and 269 others _
> 
> _ Subject: Some updates _
> 
> _Hello everyone._
> 
> _I'm happy to announce that the production crew has decided to take our movie on the road. We will be filming on location in Normandy at the end of the month. Please plan accordingly._
> 
> _ Due to reasons that will not be disclosed at this time, Our head of sets, Natasha Romanov has been fired. Please forgive any delays while we find her replacement.  _
> 
> _ I expect you all to tread lightly. _
> 
> _ -QB _

And just like that- it was done. Natasha was fired. He didn’t even spare her a phone call before announcing it to everyone on the crew. Bucky felt his blood boil.

“I, uh-” Peter looked so anxious, it was verging on fear. “I’m so sorry- i, uh. I didn’t know he was planning on doing that”

“Why are you apologizing? We all know he gives you the hardest time out of everyone.” Sam, surprisingly was the one to speak up- the rest of them were stunned into scared silence. “Natasha- I’m. I mean. I’m sor-”

“It’s fine.” Natasha had a look on her face that Bucky had only seen twice before in all the time he knew her, and didn’t look forward to ever seeing again. “I’m fine. I just-”

“You can leave, if you need to.” Clint put a hand on her shoulder- the only person except maybe Bucky who she wouldn’t kill for doing so. “It’s okay- i wouldn’t be upset.”

“Yeah, but I would.” Natasha, shockingly vulnerable.

“You have no reason to be.” He kissed her on the cheek, and Bucky and Kate made eye contact while trying to look away. Kate gave him a sympathetic smile.

Right then, that was when Bucky decided he hated Beck.

Okay, Maybe he’d felt feelings of hatred toward him before, but Bucky considered himself a very forgiving person, holding grudges wasn’t really one of his many flaws. This- openly firing, and mortifying someone over email? On her boyfriend’s Birthday? Maybe Beck didn’t know the details, or maybe he did. Either way, Bucky was plotting his death.

* * *

Bucky would have liked to say that things simmered down from there, but then he'd be lying.

It was like Natasha opened the floodgates of Quentin’s patience, and suddenly people were getting fired left and right. Almost daily, Bucky had to re-introduce himself to a new crew member, not knowing if they’d still be there the next day.

Morale had lowered as well. If Bucky had thought it was bad before Natasha got fired, he hadn’t seen anything yet. Any step someone took was risky- even a toe out of line even a toe In line, but in a way that Beck didn’t like- could very well have gotten any of them fired. There was no ‘Bye! See you tomorrow!” Because few of them sure sure there even would be a tomorrow.

There wasn’t one for Natasha, or for Clint, who had quit the next day in solidarity of Natasha.

Even Steve, who was usually the ray of light in the dreary darkness seemed to have no luck cheering everyone up. As they approached the end of the shoot- or what Quentin Insisted was the end of the shoot, even though Bucky wasn’t sure how many time they’d reshot perfectly good scenes for no good reason.

Was there anything that made it in? Did the movie even have scenes? Was there a movie at all? Nobody was sure, but they all knew they were spending a lot of time and energy, and getting nowhere for it.

On one particularly difficult shoot day, Bucky found Steve sitting in the costume room/ His head was leaned up against the wall, eyes closed,and he had earbuds in. He looked like he was replaying one part of video over and over, moving the Youtube time bar back to the same point repetitively. He was bouncing his leg.

“Everything okay over here?” Bucky asked, and Steve jumped, startled. 

“Sorry..” he fumbled with his phone in a way Bucky found cute , though he felt bad for saying so, and stuck it into his back pocket, detaching his earbuds. 

He looked pale, his face lined with stress. His eyebrows scrunched together, making him look parts worried, confused, and tense. And suddenly, in a moment, his expression smoothed over, and he gave Bucky an award winning smile. 

But his face was still pale, and Bucky could see the dark circles under his eyes. Steve wasn’t fooling anyone

‘Yeah! It’s great!” He stood up, nervously sticking his hands into his pockets. “Never better.”

“Uhuh.” Bucky looked at him, suspicious. Steve smiled like he had something to hide. “Well, Beck says we’re done for the day. Since, and I quote, we don’t know how to act, he has to make the script clearer.”

“Oh...How generous.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah. So glad for the help. Maybe it won’t be incoherent this time”

“Why do i doubt that?” 

Steve’s smile was getting nearer to genuine as the two of them walked out, though he still seemed jumpy. 

“Hey!” Steve had said, abruptly, too loud and too excitedly ‘Let’s get dinner.”

“Okay.” Was all Bucky had responded with, not wanting to call Steve on his obvious tension quite yet. 

At least he was talking. At least they were going to dinner- there, they’d talk. At least there was still time to figure out what was up.

“I just have to go home and get Max first- Risky Fixins’? 30 Minutes?”

“Sure!”

And that was how they’d gotten here- sitting alone at a 4 person booth in an almost empty burger joint at 10 pm, Max almost permanently pressed to Steve’s leg, trying to calm it’s tapping. At several times during the night, he had actually jumped onto Steve’s lap to try and stop him from scratching at his own arms nervously. 

Bucky had to say something.

“Hey, I hope this doesn’t come across as hypocritical, but are you okay?”

“Mhm!” Steve nodded tensely, voice too high. 

‘...Are you sure?”

“Yep!” Max stopped Steve’s knee from moving with his paw, leaning his side against Steve.”Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, a lot of reasons” Bucky looked off to the side, not wanting this to be as tense an interaction as it was. “Max is kind of giving you away, though.”

“Oh.” Steve stopped, sighing. Then, perplexingly, he laughed.

It wasn’t the tense, agitated laugh of earlier. This was Steve’s laugh again, a warm, smooth chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He said, sounding tired “I just didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It isn’t,” Bucky answered, without really thinking about it. ‘I’m just paying attention.”

“It’s been hard. On set, without max.”

“I tend to get too caught up in what I’m doing to notice when an attack is coming on, or I forget to breathe sometimes. Or, it comes, and i feel it, i just can’t control it, and it gets a hold of me.” Steve admitted this, digging a hand through Max’s fur.

“That sounds like it sucks, I’m sorry…” 

Steve nodded, covering his face in his hands, and sighing “I don’t know what i was thinking.”

“..Thinking about what?” prompted. Steve was talking, that was good. They were getting somewhere.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I didn’t mean to say that out loud, I promise i’m not fishing for attentio-”

“Steve.” Bucky said, trying to press as much meaning as he could into one word 

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Okay,” Steve said, leg starting to shake again “I’m sorry.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this before, it was just that he’d never saw it on Steve.

He felt stupid- Bucky knew Steve had PTSD, so why was this anxiety surprising too him? He guessed it was one thing to know someone had a mental illness,a nd another to see them go through it. Another to make the connection that what you yourself felt, someone else did too.

Maybe they were more similar than Bucky had thought.

“When I joined the army” Steve finally admitted after a while. “I don’t know what i was thinking. I mean, i guess it was the money? I never had student loans to pay off, but i’m not sure it was worth it. I don’t know what i expected- to come out fine. It’s not like the army invented anxiety, i had it when i went in, and now it’s worse, now..” Steve stopped to take a breath. It was like saying the words hurt him. “Now i can’t even go anywhere without my dog in case i freak out.”

“Steve.” Bucky leaned forward in his chair, giving him a steady look. It was the same look Steve gave him whenever he said something self-deprecating, or tried to shut down. It was constant, calming. “There’s a reason why you have Max, and that’s it. You’ve been through a lot- give yourself a break. Why are you depriving yourself?”

Steve smiled to himself. “That’s what my therapist says.”

“I would know” Bucky returned the gesture. “I’ve gone to plenty of them myself.”

Steve laughed at that. “Yep.”

“ They say It’s like-”

“Speed dating!” They both said it at the same time, bursting out laughing.

This was weird. It was so fucking weird- sitting in a burger place, laughing about their joined terrible mental health. But it was nice too. Bucky felt connected in a way he hadn’t in a while, in a way he hadn’t since before he met Steve.

“I guess I feel like i don’t deserve it.” Steve finally said after a while, petting Max’s head. “That other people need it more than I do.”

“Well, if you’ve been to therapy, you know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t stop me from feeling it, though.”

Steve removed the hands from hiss face, sighing. His right one lay flat, palm up on the table, just inches away from Bucky’s.

If Bucky reached out to hold it, it probably wouldn’t be weird. He was Steve’s friend, reaching out to comfort him. Totally platonic. Completely Heterosexual. Yep.

Bucky asked Steve for permission with his eyes, and Steve consented, moving his hand closer. 

Bucky held it, gently, feeling like he was on ice. 

“I’ve been thinking of getting another dog.” Steve said after a while, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “It said on the shelter’s website that it’s best if Samoyeds are adopted in pairs,otherwise they get lonely. Max is a mix, but I’m afraid he might be lonely.”

“Nobody deserves to be alone,” Bucky said, offhandedly

“Yeah.” Now it was Steve’s turn to give him the look. “That’s true.”

* * *

“You’re good at this, you know.” Steve said, later on. "Talking people down from the ledge, so to speak."

The rest of the night had been lighter, looser, less tense. They made fun of their director, talked about nothing and everything. 

Maybe it was the beers they shared with Thor, but not Valkyrie- “i like you guys a lot, but I’m not throwing my 6 month AA chip for you. Thanks, though.”- ,Bucky had divulged more information than was strictly necessary.

Maybe it was the beers, but Bucky felt incredibly warm- floaty. It was like he had gotten used to weights on his chest tying him down, and then all at once, they vanished.

“I know. I learned it from you.”

“Yeah? Well, I learned it from Peggy, so there’s a tradeoff there...”

* * *

“You live in Manhattan?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

“Nobody lives in manhattan.”

“Well, I do.”

“I thought you said you weren’t rich?”

“I’m Not!”

“No, you just happen to live alone. In Manhattan.”

“But have you mentioned- I live in Manhattan.”

“Oh, shut up.”

They had walked home- neither of them wanted to take an Uber, and Steve’s apartment was the closer one. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” Steve blurted, then looked like he regretted it immediately after. Max pressed against his leg.

Did he want to stay the night. Did Bucky want to stay the night?

When Bucky was 16, his math teacher yelled at him for spacing out in class. She had called him out in front of everyone, had asked him if he was done thinking about Britney Spears naked and ready to find the cosine of theta.

Everyone had laughed, and Bucky did too, just to go along with the joke.He’d said that Yes, he was, Just so that he didn’t have to mention what he was really thinking about.

Steve- Or, at the time, SGR, was in Spring Awakening on Broadway that year, and Bucky was daydreaming of all the ways he was going to beg his parents to let him see it when he got home. Then, all the lies he was going to tell them when they said no and he went anyway, which turned to what he was going to say at the stage door, while he was getting his program signed. 

And it was stupid. Really stupid, and unrealistic, and deeply and darkly embarrassing, but when Bucky imagine what he’d say to Steve, he also imagined what Steve would say back. The details are fuzzy now, 13 years later, but it was something to the effect of “Thank you, i’m glad you like my work.Let’s get married.” In Bucky’s daydream, they’d get to talking, or Steve would write his phone number on the playbill an he’d text him the next day, and they’d get to know each other. And then one day, when Bucky was in College, Steve would invite him to one of his shows, or to a TV set, or to his apartment, and-

_ Do you want to stay the night? _

Did Steve know how much of a loaded question that was? Sure, it seemed simple-  _ yes i do  _ or no, _ thank you. _ But it was so much more than that.

Because God did Bucky want to; the want was woven into him, into his very bones. He thought that he wanted to before he thought to breathe. He ached with it, felt physical, tangible pain

When he was 16, Bucky would have been able to say yes a lot more easily, he thinks. Or maybe he wouldn’’t, and all that daydreaming was destined to remain only in the confines of Bucky’s imagination. Maybe he was kidding himself all that time. But what he had back then, the general idea of what SGR would be like based on how he acted, how he was in interviews, or how Bucky wanted him to be, was easier than the reality. His idea of steve was idealised, perfect. 

The reality was so much better.

Steve, as he’d come to know him, in his true, unfiltered form, was better than Bucky could have ever imagined. . Bucky had shared things with him he hadn’t even told Natasha before, things his own mother didn’t know. And in return, Steve had trusted him with secrets of that same caliber. It was like coming to know a completely different person than the one he had spent so long imagining, and Bucky was so glad that it was. 

He wanted to know him. He wanted to sit down and meticulously interrogate Steve for his every detail all in one sitting, and he wanted to take his sweet time. He wanted it to take ten minutes and the rest of his life. He wanted to take things slow, and he wanted to cut to the end all at once. And, could you blame him for wanting to savor it? Bucky, for the first time, felt like he could really, truly trust someone. He respected Steve, he cared about him, he loved him-

He loved him. He wanted to stay the night.

And that was why he had to leave. 

He couldn’t do this, because Steve deserved so much better than him. Steve had mess enough to deal with, he didn’t have to bear any additional clutter. He didn’t need that baggage. He might have not realized it yet- the haze of a nice night did have a tendency to tint everything rose, even the biggest mess can look nice manageable the right lighting- but eventually Steve would come to his senses, and Bucky couldn’t be there when he did.

He’d do it quickly, make up some excuse about getting an early start, sleeping off his hangover. 

Steve was giving him puppydog eyes that could beat even Max’s.

He’d tell Steve they’d meet Another time.

Max was pressed against his leg-

They’d go to work the next day

Steve was Anxious.

And it would be like nothing happened

Dear god, he was making Steve Anxious

And they would do the fight scene

Steve was going to start panicking, because of him 

Bucky pressed against a wall, Steve pressed against him

Steve was going to have a panic attack

Breath mingling, it would be easy to close the gap. 

Because of him.

He would leave it to his daydreams.

“I have to go.”

Bucky didn’t dare to turn back as he left, the look on Steve’s face etching itself into his brain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheww, this chapter was hard to write. I wish i could say it gets better from here, but i'd be lying.
> 
> it does, kinda. a little bit.
> 
> does anyone else hate beck? leave a comment and tell me about it <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a flashback, and Bucky gets closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback scene here might be triggering- it comes directly from real life, so I figured it would be more realistic. It includes self harm by way of self-imposed isolation. I'm going to bracket it with a bunch of paragraph breaks, in case you want to scroll past, so you can know when it's over.
> 
> And, as always, my inbox is always open if anyone needs to talk. 
> 
> I'm Kopescetic on Tumblr and Instagram
> 
> thank you for reading, and stay safe <3

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

>   
__ The best part of crying in the doctor's office is that there are tissues everywhere   
  
The worst part is everything else.    
  
"So, James. How has your diet been."   
  
Bucky pulled his baseball cap low on his face.
> 
> __   
"S'been fine."   
  
"Fine how?" His doctor looked him right in the eye despite the dark sunglasses shielding them from the outside.    
  
He had left his apartment that morning in a bright blue Hawaiian shirt, and dark glasses, as if a sunny appearance would lighten up how he felt. He put on a baseball cap from the hoover dam gift shop that he hadn't worn since 2011, and left, and hoped he didn't seem too brood-y   
  
He guessed it was a sort of armor, but it didn't protect him so much as increase the irony of his appearance. There's only so much palm trees and Margaritas can do for one's mood, after all.    
  
"Its just been fine." Bucky averted his eyes from the doctor's critical gaze.    
  
"Eating enough fruits and vegetables?"    
  
"Mhm."    
  
"Okay," Doctor Owens looked over Bucky's file some more. "Getting some exercise in?"   
  
"Yeah." Bucky sniffed, and wiped a tear from his face. He tried to pass it off as him scratching his cheek.   
  
"Doing what?"   
  
"Uh." He tried to make an effort to look Owens in the eye. He was an actor, goddamn it, why couldn't he pretend to be okay? " Well for, uh. The show i was on had me working out pretty regularly. so."   
  
"Good," Owens nodded. "And how long ago was this?"   
  
"Six, seven months ago. I think."   
  
"And what have you been doing recently?"    
  
Bucky didn't answer, which thankfully Owens took as his cue to move on.   
  
"Okay... And you're still on the Prozac?"   
  
"No, not lately." It was the truth, once Bucky realized the side effects of his medication we're worse than the illness itself, he'd stopped immediately.   
  
It had helped. Mostly.    
  
"It made me crazy, so I stopped."   
  
"...But you still have a prescription."   
  
"Yeah." He looked blankly at his doctor. "Self monitoring, and all that."    
  
"Uhuh...." Doctor Owens looked skeptically back up at Bucky. "Listen, James, I'm gonna be honest; not many of my patients come in for physicals crying. I think it might be in your best interest to start taking it again."   
  
"Have you ever taken Prozac, doctor Owens?"   
  
"No, i cant say that i have." the doctor looked back at Bucky. Brows knitted, mouth firm, Eye contact. Bucky didn't do eye contact. "But it is my professional opinion-"   
  
"You're not my therapist." Bucky said, with perhaps a little too much venom. "You're my fucking general doctor. Why do you care whether or not I'm taking Prozac?" The tears were coming more steadily now, and Bucky felt out of breath, choked.    
  
"I only mean to say that you don't seem like someone who can determine whether or not they should be on medication."   
  
"What, so I'm crazy? Cant decide for myself whether or not I wanna take my fucking meds?" His breath was coming in short spurts, he couldn't help the noises coming out in their stead. "I don't think the fact you see me once a year qualifies you to make that kind of judgement."   
  
"James," Doctor Owens put down his clipboard and looked at Bucky frankly. "With all due respect, the last time i saw you, you were the same. I don't have much reference to know if you've done better since then, and since you're like this, I'm not sure what other conclusion to draw.   
  
"I was doing fine. S'just today." The sad part was, that was true. Bucky had been doing better. Last June, Bucky hit rock bottom, and was slowly climbing up ever since. The difference between how he was doing this year and last year was comforting.   
  
He wasn't sure what was wrong that made him like this. He had cried himself to sleep last night, and then woken up the the reminder that he had a physical, and felt two seconds from crumbling on the ride over.   
  
But it wasn't like that. It wasn't what the doctor thought. He had been doing better-really.    
  
Bucky wasn't crazy. He would get over this. But for now, he was crying in an examination room, and he didn't know why. In the hallway, in the waiting room, lobby, parking lot. He tried his hardest to hide his red rimmed eyes and hiccuping breath with crossed arms and dark glasses, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was looking at him, looking *into* him, and judging what they saw.   
  
Bucky opened the drivers side door of his car, and sat at the wheel in a haze. His phone buzzed- how long had it been doing that? He pressed ignore. Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?    
  
He'd be okay in a bit. He just needed time to get over...whatever this was.    
  
Somewhere, distantly, Bucky knew this wasn't healthy. That he should talk to his friends, his family who cared about him.   
  
Its a weird thing, to know what you're doing isn't good, isn't healthy, and to do it anyway. Its like sitting in the corner of a room, and watching a ghost control your body in the center of it. He could feel himself trying to stop it, but at the same time doing it more   
  
He could hear his therapist's voice ringing in his ears, telling him this wasn't the way to cope. That isolation would do more harm than good. That he deserved to get better.   
  
Bucky doubted there was a better to get at all

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

Bucky wasn't answering his phone.

He knew it wasn't good- he knew he was probably blowing any chance he would have had with Steve to all hell, he was probably worrying Natasha more than she needed to be worried right now.

He couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't bring himself to answer the phone. He couldn't bring himself to move.

And that was the scary part of it.

The last time Bucky felt like this, he didn't snap out of it for a year.

_Not again_, he thought. _Not this again_

It wasn't that bad yet- Bucky still had time. He hadn't spiralled out of control yet- there was still hope.

Bucky forced himself to look at the phone, and was surprised to see an unknown number.

He had answered just to make sure he did something, not at all expecting what came.

"Hey! James, right? This is Tony Stark- meet me for lunch?"

* * *

"i just figured I would get to know you. I'm going to be talking up the movie a lot, and i should know who I'm talking about."

They were at some place Bucky had never been, and probably would never go to again. It looked so fancy, he was almost certain the owners were hiding something. Probably money laundering. He didn't really care either way.

"Yeah, about that." Bucky felt more hostile than he needed to be- maybe it was the fact that Tony hadn't showed up to set this entire time, or maybe it was the fact he'd left the movie he supposedly cared so much for in the hands of Satan himself. "Why don't you know me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've put together such a dream team. All close friends, and such. And as you've so helpfully pointed out, i don't know you, and you don't know me." Bucky crossed his arms, refusing to sit down out of pure spite.

He knew his anger was misplaced- Bucky _knew_ it, and yet he couldn't stop the angry tone. He couldn't stop the indignance rolling from him in waves.

"Well, yes.."

"So why cast me?" Once Bucky started, he couldn't stop. The dam had broken on his patience, as well, it seemed like. Everything was falling to shit, and all Bucky could do was scramble for purchase. So scramble he would.

"I don't even know you- Yes, I've seen your movies, but who hasn't? And maybe you've seen mine, but i doubt they're good enough for me to qualify as a close friend. So why? I'm just some outsider, some actor who hasn't worked in a year, and who's IMDB shows it. Why am I the odd man out?"

"James..." Tony had the gall to look surprised. "Well, you did audition for the role."

"Yeah. I was the only one- I've asked around."

"Jack was the only role we needed to cast for- He's so nuanced, and we didn't know anyone else who could pull him off."

Bucky scoffed at that, which Tony seemed to ignore.

"You were the best person for the role, that's it. No conspiracy."

"Yeah, i doubt tha-"

"I can't imagine why, since that seems to be how casting works." Tony had been more than generous in his patience, but it looked like it had run out. "Your audition was amazing, and that's all there is."

That couldn't be all there was- it didn't make sense. Bucky had wondered why he was the only outsider for months- it couldn't just be because he was best for the role, because Bucky wasn't that good. It had to be for pr, they wanted to rake in old _Attack Of The Planets_ fans, or maybe they could get away with paying him less if he was a lesser known actor.

That had to be it. What else was there.

"Why don't i believe you" Bucky asked- he didn't know why he thought he'd get a straight answer. It's not like Tony would just tell him why he casted him- he was a movie executive, for christ's sake!

"I don't know." Tony responded, clipped. "And i also don't know what I did to deserve this. I don't think I've given you any cause to doubt my motives."

There was a pause, neither of them knew what to say. Tony had stood up at some point, and they were both glaring daggers at each other.

"You're.."Bucky sighed, his shoulders relaxing from where they were once hitched up to his ears. "You're right. I'm... I was just angry."

"I noticed." 

"I realise this isn't great first impression, huh."

"No," Tony crossed his arms "not the best I've seen."

"What, are you going to fire me?" 

"What? For being angry? Of course not." Tony looked affronted. "Movies are stressful- who would fire someone just for being irritated?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Humor me."

"Your director."

"_What?_"

"Nothing, it's- it's okay." Bucky forced himself to smooth the chip on his shoulder- he did want to keep his job, after all. "I'm sorry for being so aggressive. Thank you, Mr. Stark, but i'm going to have to decline your offer. Now just isn't really a good time. Another day, if you still want to?"

"I.. yeah, that should be fine." Tony looked stunned, and Bucky thought_ Good _despite himself.

"I'll.. see you around."

And with that, Bucky turned and walked. He wasnt sure where.

He walked, and walked, his feet seeming to have a mind of their own. His body knew where he wanted to go, but he didn't.

He walked, until he found himself at Steve's apartment building. Until he found himself pressing the button to send the elevator down to the lobby, pressing the button for the third floor- Steve's floor. 

He found himself in front of Steve's door, hand poised to knock, and found that he couldn't.

He owed Steve an apology after last night- he knew that. He owed a lot of people an apology. He wasn't sure what had spurred him into action like this, but it was probably something in the way Tony had looked after he snapped at him. Offended, but confused. 

_I don't know what_ _I did to deserve this._

Something in Steve's face, when he's turned away

_Steve didn't know what he did to deserve this._

The answer, of course, for both cases was nothing. Tony had done nothing, Steve had done nothing. It was all in Bucky's head.

_It was all in Bucky's head._

It was like something had clicked in his head, like something had given out, allowing for the right pieces to shift into place.

Bucky was an idiot. He was such an _idiot._ And now he was an idiot outside of Steve's apartment, unsure what to do.

Bucky's phone rang, and he answered it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky IS an idiot
> 
> i say, as if i haven't done the exact same thing.
> 
> If it's any consolation, this is the worst this fic is going to get in terms of heavy subject matter. It's all uphill from here.
> 
> well, kinda. You'll see <3


	6. Chapter  6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They cross some barriers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get readddyyy

“What are you doing here, Will?” 

“What do you think I'm doing here? It's my bunk too.”

The script had changed. Again.And it sucked. But, what else was new? At least Beck had told them to up the emotion in the scene, so there was more shoving, more talking into each other’s faces. And Bucky had finally stopped kidding himself, and had finally admitted why he liked doing this specific scene so much.

And at least the air between them had been cleared, so it wasn’t agony to be near Steve.

After his talk with Tony, Bucky hadn’t been able to relax, and he couldn’t pinpoint why. He felt like taking action against something, though he wasn’t sure what. The feeling must have been mutual, because as soon as the door had opened, neither of them could stop talking.

They had both word vomited how they felt to each other- Incidentally, they Both felt like they were making the other uncomfortable, and neither was right- and they had agreed to forget the whole thing happened.

Bucky had Not mentioned his epiphany, the reason that he had left that night still hung, an unanswered question between them. 

Surprisingly enough, when the time came for them to shoot the scene, Bucky found he wasn’t dreading it. Steve and he had done it so many times, their close proximity was barely the issue Bucky had thought it would be. 

“Bullshit. Why are you here?”

“Because you stole my girl!”

That was new. Bucky dimly wondered if they would ever explain who that girl was, or if it would be left as another loose end, still left untied when the movie was over. He wondered if the movie would ever be over.

“What do you want from me?” 

“My girl back!”

In the rewrite, it says ‘William goes for the throat’. Bucky guesses Beck just wanted to cut out all that pesky plot and buildup, because not only do they grapple with each other, Bucky pinned against the wall, in the script it says “William kills jack.”

Bucky would refrain from stating his opinion on that one.

They were fighting, with Bucky’s hands against Steve’s wrists. He could feel his pulse from underneath his fingers, fluttering a little faster every time he swung a hit at Bucky. 

The script implies that William should be in a jealous rage, but the way Steve acted it, it was slow and heartbreaking. There were tears in his eyes, a certain rawness to his touch. It was like he was savoring the last moments of Jack before he would be forced to kill him- he _ would _ be forced. The very script that created him would force him to kill his best friend, and Steve exploited that fact to the very best of his acting ability.

Bucky had to struggle to stay in the moment when all he wanted to do was sit back and watch Steve work- watch the little subtle changes in his expression as he portrayed William’s internal struggle. Watch the sadness in his eyes as his hands closed around Jack’s throat.

In the script, it’s supposed to be the only tender moment in the scene, but the cameras are rolling, and it doesn’t matter what the script says. The tears in steve’s eyes spill over, and onto his cheeks, he’s hoarse as he says “I’m Sorry.”

And it’s personal, the way he says it. It’s not William saying it to jack anymore, it’s Steve saying it to Bucky. It’s not an apology for oncoming murder, it’s for last night. It’s for their miscommunication. It’s for what could have been last night, and for what wasn’t.

Bucky feels himself tear up too, and he doesn’t know why. They’ve already had this conversation, apologized, agreed to forget it. But Steve looks so sad, dejected, and Bucky  _ knows _ it’s acting, but something about it makes him feel the same. Steve’s happiness was always contagious, Bucky guessed his sadness was too

It’s the last few moments before Jack dies, and Bucky’s looking into Steve’s eyes. 

It’s not in the script. Before Jack dies, bucky croaks “I’m Sorry.”

And it’s exactly what the scene needs- well, not  _ all _ it needs, because when they cut, the crew all has tears in their eyes. Carol gives them a knowing smile from where she is, off to the side to oversee their fighting. 

Steve wipes away his tears and gives Bucky one of his contagious smiles. It does what it says on the tin.

The only person unmoved is Quentin, who is shaking his head, but says nothing. It’s infuriating, how he usually has so much to say, and is now silenced. 

“Alright, Iago.” Peggy says, while Angie fixed Bucky’s makeup to make him look dead. 

Angie looked confused at her girlfriend at that. “The bird from the Lion king? That’s a new one.”

“I think she means from _ Othello _ ?” Steve replies for her, leaning against the vanity beside Bucky.

”From this time forth, I will never speak word? Iconic, villainous last line?” Peggy asks, as if Angie should know this.

“You’re losing me, English.”

“Because Beck hasn’t said a word since we wrapped?”

Angie pulls away from her tin of scab blood. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds smart and you’re pretty, so I’m charmed.”

Peter stopped by a little before their break- they weren't doing anything anyway since Beck was nowhere to be found, probably off firing someone- , clipboard still in hand, looking a shell of the man Bucky had originally met.

Peter hadn't really been on Bucky's radar over the course of production, but not Bucky wished he had been, because to say that Peter looked like a mess was the understatement of the year.

His hair stuck up in all directions, permanently raked up by his fingertips. Peter looked fidgety, but not in the same way he'd been at the readthrough; there, it's been out of excitement, nervousness yes, but positive. Now, Peter looked wracked with anxiety. 

It wasn't pretty. Bucky wasn't a very Maternal person, but even he had the urge to wrap peter up in a blanket and protect him.

"Uh, hey guys. Uh." Peter took a deep breath, rifling through his clipboard "None of you have seen Mr. Beck, right?"

"Not recently, no."

"Sorry, love."

"Haven't had the urge to puke yet, so no."

"Are you alright?" Peggy asked, likely knowing the answer from one look at Peter.

"Yeah, I uh. I'm just a little stressed." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Mr. Beck said he wanted me to take inventory of something, and "make sure everything was in place" but I'm not sure what for, and I can't find him to ask him."

"Then I wouldn't worry about it," Angie said, smearing scab blood onto Bucky's cheekbone, going over it with powder to make it look dry and old. "He can't expect you to do something you don't know how to do."

Bucky couldn't help but snort at that. "Well, he can expect it, and probably will. He just won't be right."

"Why don't you take a break," Steve said, pushing off from the vanity smoothly, coolly. "We're breaking for lunch in a few minutes anyway, why don't you come sit with us."

As it happened, Beck eventually did show up. And, once he did, brought down his wrath upon the crew. 

So, they all said their final Goodbyes to Peter as he left that afternoon for the last time. 

He looked sad, disappointed as you would expect, but also a little relieved. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

"Hey, kid" Bucky approached him as he was packing up, wishing he had taken the time to do this sooner. "Um. I've been listening to your podcast."

A small light in the dark, Peter looked up at him. "Really? What did you think?" 

"I liked it a lot. You and your friends are funny."

"Yeah…" Peter looked off to the side "I mean, Ned and I tend to take it more seriously, it's usually Johnny and MJ that make it funny? And we didn't plan it that way, that's just how it came out I guess. I always thought it made our goal kind of muddled- do you think that?"

"No," Bucky couldn't help but grin, a little jaded, seeing Peter so enthusiastic, even after the hell he'd been through. "I think it adds to the charm of it. And I think you should keep going. Never stop making movies and such."

"Yeah, well I kinda blew that one, didn't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," The spark in Peter's eye was gone now. "I blew my Stark internship- I got fired. I was on the road to making something really cool, and then I muddied it up."

"With all due respect, there's someone here doing the muddying, and he isn't you."

"Thanks, Bucky." Peter smiled at him, hefting his box of things he left at the set. 

"I think it's the opposite," Bucky added, after a while. "I think you're the Buchanan."

"Aw," Peter's smile grew wider. "I'm not an actor, so that's not really how you use that word, but I appreciate it."

__

* * *

The next day was mostly Ensemble-  _ Background Characters, Barnes. This isn't a musical- _ Background character work. Bucky and Steve still had a few scenes to shoot, so they had a lot of down time on set.

It was Steve's idea.

They were in his trailer- because of Course he had a trailer, he's SGR for fuck's sake- and Peggy had taken the day off to set up for her charity gala. Steve, ever the theatre person, had asked for Bucky to run lines with him. Peggy's lines- Margaret's lines. 

This was going to be tough. 

The tension around them had lessened, the air was supposedly clear. So, why did bucky still feel so nervous? Whenever Steve shifted on the next to him on the sofa, whenever they made eye contact. The novelty of being around his Idol wasn't there anymore- he barely thought of Steve like that anymore at all. He had taken down the posters in his room, and replaced them with pictures Steve had taken one day, with one of those old Polaroid cameras someone had brought in, (but went unused because it wasn't Period Accurate). Pictures of himself, of Bucky looking confused, of Angie looking angry, of Peggy looking perfect. Photos of the two of them, of three, of four. A large cast picture he'd asked Beck to take for them, that he couldn't come up with a good excuse to say no to. His phone background wasn't of SGR anymore, now it was a photo steve had sent him of himself with Max sleeping on his chest, the caption "He's had a hard day."

Everything in Bucky's life that centered around SGR had been replaced with Steve, and Bucky wasn't even mad about it. 

He had come to terms with the fact he was in love with Steve a while ago, addressed it, compartmentalized it, and ignored it. It wasn't necessary- wasn't helpful. 

He knew Steve was straight, there was no need to complicate things. They were friends, and that was it. 

..but it was hard. 

Sitting together, shoulder to shoulder, legs touching in a cramped trailer, Bucky reading off romantic lines- no matter how badly written they were. It was so goddamn difficult not to just end the tension, or close the gap. 

But he couldn't. Bucky wanted to. But he couldn't. 

"Can'tcha-" Bucky stopped, tripping over his words. "Can'tcha just-" 

He growled in frustration, and Steve laughed- he was always  _ laughing _ \- but not unkindly.

“Yeah, I know. These lines are ridiculous- it’s like a robot wrote them.” Steve said, warmth in his voice, in his eyes.

“Ugh.” Bucky flipped to the begninning of the scene. It was their rewritten goodbye scene. They were in a corn maze in Alabama- because that’s where William and Margaret were from in this rewrite. It was like Beck had no idea these were real people, as was just fucking with everyone.

Bucky was more than ready for this movie to be over.

Then again, he wasn’t.

Would he and steve still talk when this was all over? Would they still go out at 3 am on weeknights just because one of them wanted to? Or would they be strangers again, confined to different worlds again.

"Some people don't get that you have to write dialogue the way you'd speak."

"Yeah,  _ right"  _ Bucky said, vindicated. "It's like- I was in this one voice acting project once,right? It was obscure, never got anywhere, not even sure I got played for it- and it was like they'd pulled people from the street to write it. It was illegible!" 

Steve stopped in his tracks.

“I mean, I think it was a foreign project, but then should the translators have made it like. At least read-able?”

“Shit.”

“ Steve…” Bucky asked, confused.

“ _ Shit, _ how did I not put that together..” Steve turned to him, stunned. 

"...Put what together?"

"What project was it?"

"Steve-"

" _ What project?" _

"I don't remember…"

Steve fumbled with his phone, eyes like saucers, and brought up a video.

It was animated- if you'd even call it that- and up on the screen was a character that was covered in bandages. 

_ I'll kick your ass _ , he said, in Bucky's voice. 

"Are you Rupert???" Steve asked, a sense of urgency in his voice. 

"Uh, yeah I guess." Bucky had no idea what was going on. "Woah, how did you-"

Steve dropped his phone, and grabbed Bucky's hands all in one go 

"You're my  _ hero _ ."

Bucky could feel his face beating up from the contact. It was firm, and Steve's hands were rough and warm to Bucky's cold fingertips. He squeezed back. 

"Thanks… but uh. Why?"

"Because you're the  _ Buchanan- sh _ it. How did I not put that together? I'm so  _ stupid-" _

"Wait, hold on," Bucky held onto Steve's hands "Catch me up.  _ Why _ am I your hero?" 

"Because- shit. Because that video  _ sucks _ . Like, all of it. And you… you  _ don't _ . You're amazing in it. And its like… if Rupert- if  _ you _ can deliver that well? Amongst that much bullshit? Then you can do anything, and…" 

Steve looked him in the eye, urgently, seriously. "You inspire me, Bucky."

"Th-thanks." Bucky couldn't help the giggle that colored his response. It just came out of him. Steve didn't seem to mind- just looked at him like he hung the stars. They were still holding hands. "Is that the video you're always watching? Like. Repeatedly?"

"Yeah. What did you think-" When Bucky gave him a look, Steve shoved him lightly, letting go of one of his hands to do so. 

"Shut up"

"I didn _ 't  _ say anything!"

"No, but you were thinking it." 

"Well, I can't really stop thinking, so…"

"Wanna bet?" Steve said, and it was bold, unhindered in a way Bucky never realised he could be. Bucky never realised Steve was holding back anything at all- he was just so self- assured all the time, so confident. 

"What does that  _ mean?"  _ Bucky was laughing now too, giddy and not really sure why. Drunk on Steve's happiness. 

" _ I don't know!" _ Steve said, and it was revelatory. "I don't know, it's just. You've been the only thing that's gotten me through this movie, both in real life and in this dumb video, and I don't think I would still be acting if it weren't for you, and I just- I could kiss you right now!"

_ I could kiss you right now…? _

Was that rhetorical? Did he mean it? Bucky's head was spinning.

"Then why don't you."

Bucky's first instinct was to retreat- to deny himself the opportunity. To leave before this- the delicate balance they'd both found was shattered. Really, he wasn't sure why he'd said it. It had just come out, avoided the careful filtration Bucky made sure touched all of his thoughts and words. 

Steve looked at him, serious this time, but Bucky was serious too. Completely serious. 

"Are you… are you joking?"

Bucky paused for a while. He was sick of this- sick of denying himself a shot at what he wanted when it was offered. When he could just  _ ask for it _ , and all of his questions would be answered. 

"No. I'm not."

They both looked at each other intensely, hands still joined. Then, it was like something had clicked in both of their minds. Like they both  _ got _ it. 

"Do you. I mean, should I…"

Bucky nodded. Steve nodded back, leaning in, and-

"Before we do this-" Steve said, jerking his head back, and all Bucky could think was  _ just kiss me already!.  _ "You should know- I mean. This is kind of a big deal, because uh. I've never done this before"

"You've never kissed someone before…?" Bucky asked, confused. He had  _ watched _ Steve kiss people, Steve had kissed peggy in  _ front of him _ for the movie.

"No, I mean. Not with someone I liked. Not when I  _ wanted  _ to. Not with a guy, or…"

Steve sighed, steeling himself. 

"I'm bisexual," He said, making fierce eye contact with Bucky. "And I think I'm going to kiss you now. If that's alright."

Bucky couldn't argue with that. 

* * *

“Do you want to stay the night?”

It was after they wrapped for the night. Bucky found himself at a familiar doorstep. He leaned in to kiss Steve- because  _ that _ was a thing- and he kissed back, and everything was warm and golden and  _ right.  _

“Yeah, I think I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for reading!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They attend a gala

“You weren't kidding, Steve- this place is..”

“ A lot.” Steve nodded beside him. “Yep.”

As soon as they walked in, Bucky was hit in the face with how  _ huge _ it was. Even crowded with tables, the sheer amount of space in the ballroom was giving Bucky vertigo. Being pushed from the crowded street outside, to a cramped elevator  _ here _ made it feel even bigger, if that were possible. 

The carpet was as tacky as you'd imagine from a hotel, but the actual ballroom was nice, the whole place swathed in purple light. Scraps of fabric hung down from the tall, rafter-ed ceiling, and projected onto them and on the floor were what looked like gold flowers. There were little fake oil lamps on all the tables that burned bright yellow.

Bucky could tell which parts were touches from Angie (the old, ornate wood chairs, the delicately embroidered tablecloths, the oil lamps) and which were from Peggy(the color scheme, the table setting, everything else). Nobody could deny it- the two worked well together in every sense of the phrase.

Him and Steve had fucked around and done nothing for most of that morning and were almost late because of it. Bucky had borrowed one of Steve’s tuxes to avoid having to stop by at his place to change. It fit Bucky better than he expected, but whether that meant him or steve was the one getting healthier, he didn't know. It was probably a little of both, he thought. 

Still, Bucky felt foreign and awkward and more embellished than the room in Steve’s suit. It was navy blue, custom tailored, probably far more expensive than Bucky would ever be able to afford. 

When Bucky told Steve as much, he just kissed him on the cheek- because, yeah.  _ That's _ a thing now-and reassured him he looked great. 

Bucky still felt pretty ornamental, even though Steve had  _ insisted _ that he didn't pay for the suit. That  _ it was a promotion _ al thing, and he  _ was paid to wear it,  _ and _ he wouldn't have bought it on his own.  _ It wasn't that Steve made him feel like an accessory, in fact, he was doing the opposite in his assurances. He just felt like that , illogically, anyway. 

There were waiters and other staff darting in and out of the massive room, all dressed stereotypically in white and black, with aprons and  _ actual towels _ on their arms. It was like a movie set; everything exactly the way you’d expect it, and yet, there was a sense of fantasy. Like you'd walk five steps in the wrong direction, and the illusion would be broken. 

Bucky and Steve walked forward in awe; and everything was still there.

“What kind of place  _ is _ this, Steve?” Bucky said, when, honest to god, he saw staff wheeling an actual  _ ice sculpture _ into the room

“The Marriott, Bucky.”

Steve grinned at him slantedly, and bucky could feel his world turn at the same angle. He was wearing a plain black suit and a dark blue tie, and if they hadn't been in such a rush earlier, Bucky would have insisted it was on purpose. His hair was pushed back.

“The decorations remind me of something, but I can't pinpoint what.” Bucky noticed Steve scanning the room earlier, but knowing him it was to look for exits- force of habit from his training in the military, or maybe just the anxiety- and it occurred to him that his response wasn't late, but rather Steve hadn't had a chance to notice the room before that point. Purple and gold, the intricately designed yellow flowers on the ground looked a lot like suns as well.

“It reminds you of Tangled.” 

“It does!” Steve’s face lit up. “Ya hear that, Maxy?” 

Max wagged his tail, tongue sticking out from his open smile. There was a little bowtie clipped Max’s service dog vest. Steve scratched behind his ear. 

Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he unlocked it to find a text from Natasha. Attached was a photo of clint looking very clean and very annoyed in a taxi. Through the window behind him, a car was parked far too close

> **From: natty ice**
> 
> _Traffic stopped bumper 2 bumper. Some_ _ guy ate shit on his moped. Gonna B late _

Bucky replied, momentarily glimpsing Steve’s awed expression before typing one-handedly

> **To: natty ice**
> 
> _thats okay_. 
> 
> **To: natty ice**
> 
> _ I think i broke steve. _

“You okay?” he asked, only slightly amused. Bucky was sure he looked the same when he first walked in the room, but that wasn't going to stop Bucky from being charmed by Steve’s reaction. 

“Yeah.” It was dreamy, as if he could only half hear Bucky from the depths of his own shock- Peggy and Angie had  _ really _ outdone themselves-and was only just coming back to consciousness

Steve interlaced their fingers together, and Bucky squeezed his hand back, his heart leaping. 

> _ _ **From: natty ice **
> 
> _ What did u 2 DO last night??? _
> 
> _ _ **To: natty ice**
> 
> _ Nothing _
> 
> _ _ **To: natty ice**
> 
> _ ;)  _
> 
> _ _ **From: natty ice** _ _
> 
> _ I hate u _

Bucky laughed to himself. He couldn't believe he had the luxury to be coy about his relationship with Steve. He couldn't believe he had that luxury with  _ anyone _ , really. 

“I think we should go find Peggy.” Bucky unstuck himself from his obnoxious spot directly in front of the entrance, Steve and Max trailing behind him. 

They walked around for a bit, dodging between waiters and tables, and awkwardly doing it all while connected by their hands. Finally, they found it at the front of the room near the stage. Their place cards were next to each other, and Peggy and Natasha were next to them on either side, with Angie and Clint next to them respectively. 

Approaching as if she were a woman possessed was Peggy. There was a slightly manic look in her eye, and she was walking faster than was probably advisable given her less than practical shoes. She didn't seem to notice they had arrived yet. 

“Peggy!” Steve called out cheerfully, and Peggy startled. Quickly, she trained her stressed expression into something calmer

“Steve! James! Great to see you!” Her voice was strained, and her smile was forced. She stopped walking, but her foot still remained restless

“You too” 

“Your setup here is beautiful,” Bucky said, admiring the tablecloth below him. “Is there anything we can help with.” 

“Uh. Well.” Peggy heaved a breath “there's not much now, but later on we could probably use someone to greet the guests, make sure the staff knows where to take their coats, settle any seating disputes that will ultimately occur even though they  _ had _ the opportunity to request a seat,and not a single person did-” 

“Peggy.” Steve said, genuinely calm “You don't have to fake it- you  _ can _ admit that you're stressed.” 

In an instant, she deflated, facade falling. “Yes, well. I suppose it's obvious then.” 

“A little” Bucky smiled sympathetically 

Peggy, for the first time since she and Bucky had met, looked like a mess. She was in a pair of beat up sneakers and workout shorts, even though it was the middle of March and the February chill still had yet to release its grip on the city. She looked washed out, like she hadn't slept in a week and then took a bunch of photos, bare-faced under stage lights. 

“Tell us how we can help.” Steve repeated. He tied Max’s leash to the belt loop of his dress pants without letting go of Bucky’s hand.

“Well. Angie is in the lobby right now, I haven’t had a chance to check how things are going myself. I'm sure she could use the assistance.” 

“Oh no.”

If Peggy was stressed, Bucky was afraid to see how Angie was handling it.

“How's she doing?” Steve asked, as if reading Bucky’s mind.

“She's doing absolutely fine. It’s infuriating.” Peggy crossed her arms over her chest indignantly. “I'm supposed to be the one who has her shit together.”

“We’ll take care of it.” Bucky was never good with this comfort stuff, he always seemed to say the wrong thing, but Peggy didn't seem to be put off when he said it, which was probably the best he could have asked for, for her sake. 

“Don't feel obligated to do it just because I asked you to. This is my responsibility, not yours, and if i couldn't handle it-” 

“Peggy.” 

“I'm serious. I'm the one who took up such a big event without a planning company, in a completely different country no less, and i've been so busy with filming that I've let this-”

“Peggy.” 

“Ive let the planning on this go to wast-”

“ _ Peggy.” _ Steve released Bucky’s hand to put both of his on her shoulders. 

It looked like Peggy was hyperventilating until that point. If Steve was good at anything, it was comforting people. He was just a warm, steady, calming presence (even if he himself was rarely truly calm). 

Sam had said it perfectly- Steve really was the universal donor of Good Vibes

“You worked your ass off for this.” Steve told her, slowly, carefully “And it looks amazing”

“But it-” 

“Peggy. Go get ready.” 

Peggy looked like she wanted to protest, but there was very little space to argue where Steve was involved, usually. Steve’s hand returned to its place clasped in Bucky’s, and he dragged him by the hand out of the massive ballroom and into the lobby.

**From: natty ice**

_ Ugh. More traffic. Clint’s getting antsy  _

**To: natty ice**

_did you try giving him a lollipop to keep. him occupied_

**From: natty ice**

_ Funny. Hows the party_?

**To: natty ice**

_good but im scared_

**From: natty ice**

_ U should be. Traffic’s moving again. and. im_ _ omw,  _

** To: natty ice**

_its because of peggy shes actually_ _ stressed  _

** To: natty ice**.  _ like fr shes scary  _

**From: natty ice**.  _Oh. Wow_.

As it happened, Angie was in the lobby, and it was true that she  _ was _ completely relaxed. This, in part, seemed to be due to the fact that there was nothing to do out in the lobby. 

“I think I was stressing her out, so I decided to make myself useful out here” Angie explained, re-arranging the flowers for the third time since Bucky and Steve had arrived “Problem is- there's nothing to do. It all  _ really _ is perfect.”

Steve laughed a little, warmly. “I wouldn't expect anything else.” 

“From Peggy? Never.”

Their attentions were diverted to the rotating door, letting out their first guest for the night. As if like clockwork, the doorman greeted them, a hotel staff member took their coat, and an usher showed them to their seat. It all occurred, magically, in under a minute. 

“Yeah, like I said.” Angie stood up from her seat and stretched, cat-like, as if she hadn't moved in ages. “There's absolutely nothing to do.” 

“Well, there is one thing.”

Angie raised a golden eyebrow at Bucky, hands fixed on her hips. “And what's that?”

“Your girlfriend- I mean.” Bucky regretted it the moment it came out, feeling Steve holding back a snort out of courtesy beside him. 

“Maybe right smack in the middle of her charity gala isn't the best time or place, but I'll consider it”

“That's not what I meant-”

“Trust me, though. Later.”

“Angie-” Bucky’s face scrunched in embarrassment.

“I know what you meant, dude.”

“She's not ready yet.” Bucky tried to push a sense of urgency into his voice where it wanted to crack.

“Disappointed. But not surprised.” 

“We'll save you guys a seat.” Steve called after Angie, as she started running in the direction of the ballroom 

“You will do no such fucking thing! Those place cards are there for a reason” Angie yelled back behind her shoulder, dress billowing out under her as she ran. 

A soft “I cried over those place cards!” could be heard as she rushed around the corner. 

Steve gave Bucky an indiscernible look. His eyes were sparkling, and his lopsided smile was back

"...What?” 

“Nothing.” .

“It's clearly  _ something.”  _ Steve’s smile was contagious, Bucky felt himself catch it. 

“You're adorable.” 

“That's demeaning.”

“I don't mean it that way…”

“I know. I'm messing with you,”

“ Sorry if, uh. I'm sorry.” 

“ I think you’re, uh. Adorable too.”

Steve averted his eyes, and made a face like he was holding back a grin. “Thanks.” 

Bucky dimly recognised how stupid they sounded. If they were in a movie, bucky probably would have groaned and thrown popcorn at the screen for the sheer cheese of it, He didn't feel like groaning- he felt light, like if steve let go of his hand he’d just float away.

This was dumb.  _ They _ were dumb. And Bucky loved it. 

* * *

“You'll be fine, English.” Angie picked a stray eyelash from Peggy’s cheek. “it's not like you've had this speech written and memorised for 6 months and know it better than your own left hand, or anything.”

“I know.” Peggy squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, they were determined and trained on her girlfriend. “I know. You're right”

“Of course I am.” 

From the other side of the curtain, the MC they'd hired (yeah, it was  _ that _ kind of event- Bucky half expected a royal food taster to show up) yelled out Peggy’s name. She kissed Angie on the cheek, accepted an encouraging hug from Steve, and shot Bucky a lazy salute, which he returned. 

Peggy stepped out onto the stage, the curtain closing behind her, and Bucky heard the crowd erupt in a second wind of applause.

Angie let out a breath. “Crisis averted. She's dressed, not crying, and about to be incredibly fucking fulfilled, My work here is done.” 

“Uh, you got something right there” Bucky gestured to his own cheek, mirroring where Angie now had a bright lipstick stain

“I know,” she said, smirking “Why else do you think i gave her a red lip?” 

Once Bucky and Steve found their seats again, Peggy had already begun her speech, thanking some key donors, and other charities that had given their time and money to the cause. She was charming and effortless, like she hadn't spent the entire morning pacing around in workout gear and having a breakdown. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn't a little jealous- if it were him, he'd be a mess. 

Natasha and Clint finally arrived , fashionably late and not looking the part at all. Clint was clean-shaven , and Natasha was dressed in something other than a tank top and cutoffs for the first time since production began. They snuck around the side to avoid attention, and took their seats beside Bucky. 

They all whispered their hellos, while Peggy went on about how she started the organization, and why. 

“What did I miss?”

“Not much. Didn't you say Kate was coming?” 

Clint leaned over and joined their cluster “She was supposed to, but then she got a girlfriend.” 

“ah…”

“Your donations all contribute to providing these people with the quality of life they deserve- that they've fought for, that-” Peggy stopped mid sentence on the stage- someone else was up there too, a Marriott employee- and her face fell instantly. He was saying something to her, and Peggy had her hand over the microphone to stop it from being broadcast all over the room. 

“Forgive me, uh. I have some matters to attend to.Please enjoy the open bar in the meantime, and I'll be returning shortly.” 

And with that, Peggy walked off the stage. The guests of the party started murmuring to themselves, Bucky’s table included.

Steve shot him a look, and Bucky knew they had to go. 

The two of them exited the room trying to make as little fuss as possible- a difficult feat, considering how packed the massive room was and considering how they were two large men and one large dog- and managed to catch up to Peggy in the lobby.

Angie caught up to them a second later, stopping in her heels and floor-length dress to catch her breath. Peggy was breathing with the same inconsistency. 

Thousands of screaming, scrambling people could be seen extending down the road. They had blocked traffic. The Marriott had tried to put up barriers, quickly, with no prior notice, but the crowd didn't seem to be obeying. There was constant motion, tussling, fighting, shoving, and Peggy stood in the center of it looking utterly swamped on the other side of the glass

“I thought she said there wasn't any press allowed.” Steve said to nobody in particular, nonplussed.

“I did.” Peggy sounded distracted, distant. She was eerily still. 

“English-” Angie reached out a hand to Peggy, who shoved away from it.

“No.” There was a calm, quiet resignation to h2cer voice. To bucky, it sounded dangerous. “I'll take care of it.”

And take care of it she would- Bucky, Steve, Angie, and about the entirety of the Marriott staff watched as Peggy walked  _out of_ the building. 

The screams from the crowd could probably be heard from Normandy.

“The event was closed invitation. Nobody was invited that didn't come last year, except for the cast.” Angie’s expression morphed from gentle concern to spite in a second. “And we switched locations, so it's not like someone could assume its where it was last year.”

There was a pause. They couldn't hear what Peggy was saying outside, but she didn't look happy, and neither did the crowd. 

“I didn't tell anyone.” Bucky said, uselessly. “Anyone I would have told was already coming anyway.”

Another pause. Some of the fans who had jumped the barrier were climbing back over, looking wronged. 

“I know.” Angie scrunched her eyes closed and hissed out a breath. “I know you didn't.”

Max leaned up against Steve’s leg again, who's eyes were closed just like Angie’s. Bucky felt close to doing the same. 

Eventually, agonizingly, Peggy finished her speech to the crowd, stormed out, and immediately collapsed into her girlfriend’s arms. Peggy’s shoulders shook soundlessly, her face pressed into the place between Angie’s neck and shoulder, and it felt like Bucky was invading something by just being there.

“We'll uh. Check on the party.” Bucky announced, and Steve shook himself to attention. 

Angie nodded, wrapping her arms around Peggy. “Just go up and talk. Steve, you prepared a speech, right?”

He nodded, as the two of them left for the ballroom. “Yeah.” 

* * *

As it happened, Steve did not prepare a speech.

“I was hoping to get out of it.” he explained, pacing backstage, in the same place as Peggy was about an hour ago in every sense. “I'm terrible at public speaking.”

“Steve.” Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the strange urge to laugh. “You're an Oscar nominated Actor.”

“I  _ know _ , it doesn't make sense.” 

“Just” Bucky put a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder, before peeking out of the slit between the curtains. “Pretend you're William Stark then- get angry at the crowd for no reason, start crying, then seduce every woman in the room to make yourself feel better.” 

Outside, the partygoers were calm, but there was a palpable tension- the woman of the hour  _ had _ just ran out mid sentence and hadn't been back since- and it was a very real fear that people would start to leave.

“Ugh.” Steve said, succinctly. 

And that was how it came to be- Steve, struggling to get a word out in front of a room of millionaires, Bucky sitting off to the side, trying to lend him strength through well directed looks alone, and all of them waiting for Peggy to come back. 

“I would just like to thank everyone for coming tonight.” Steve said into the microphone for the third time in his speech. No one clapped. If this was a movie, the mic would have fed back by now. 

“Um. I’ve been personally touched by Peggy.” 

Bucky winced, and made eye contact with Natasha, who was trying not to laugh. Others in the room were not quite so polite.

“I mean. By her organization-” Steve sighed, and it was broadcast throughout the huge room.

And then, not for the first time, Max saved the day.

He pressed up against Steve’s leg, which was his way of telling Steve that he was panicking (which, thanks for the help, but no shit), and Steve took a practiced deep breath, digging his fingers into Max’s fur. 

“Uh. This is Maximus- he's five years old, and if it weren't for GetHelp, he wouldn't be here with me tonight.”

The crowd applauded, and the building tension simmered down to almost nothing. Bucky felt himself smile in relief. 

Steve looked like he was loosening up too, fingers still gripped in Max”s fur, but not so tightly as they were before.

“About ten years ago, I was discharged from the military, and completely broke. I was staying with a friend from college, unable to pay rent, and unable to get a job because I was afraid to leave the house. I had sent out an acting reel, though, and had a few projects respond, wanting me to come in for callbacks.” 

“It took everything I had in me to go to them, every ounce of strength. I made it through the first callback alright, but had a panic attack halfway through the second. It wasn't pretty. And, not surprisingly, I wasn't offered a role after that. But I did become well acquainted with someone else who was auditioning.” 

“What I'm getting at is,” Steve continued “thanks to that audition, I met the person who would become my best friend, mentor, and who would make it so that I was able to be a person again.” 

Max stopped pressing against Steve’s leg, looking content with himself.

“Max here has been a massive help to me since we've known each other, and I'd like to think I’ve made him happy as well, but if it weren't for Peggy, Max and I would never have met. And for that, I would not only like to thank you all, but her especially for what you’ve all done”

Applause. Not clipped and polite but, rather, enthusiastic. It was just said, and nobody could dispute it: Peggy had done  _ everything _ , both at the event, for her friends, and for her charity. 

Steve looked to his right , behind the curtain and beamed.

“Thank you all for your time, I'm going to pass the mic now. Have a great evening.”

Applause, louder when Steve walked off the stage, and on came Peggy, looking like nothing had happened. Her makeup had been retouched- something Bucky only noticed having witnessed her crying it off, and she looked a little tired, but to the unknowing observer, she looked untouchable. 

Steve looked similarly above everything when he returned to their table. 

“I think that went well.” He said, pulling out his chair and wrapping Max’s leash around the backrest 

Bucky laughed, not fully understanding why, and Steve shot him a glittering look. 

“When you said you were bad at public speaking, I didn't quite believe you.” Natasha said, a gloved hand swirling her water as if it was a fancy vintage of wine. “Until now.”

He shrugged in his jacket. “What can I say- I know my strengths, and that is not one of them.”

Bucky laughed again (why was he laughing so much? He'd have to analyse it later), and Steve met his eyes with so much warmth, Bucky almost felt it. 

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” She began, again, with perfect comedic timing, and everything was well again.    
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day on set goes off with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh shits gonna get wild, strap in my dudes

Everything was just starting to get better. 

Bucky and Steve had finally stopped being stupid, and admitted having feelings for each other, Peggy's gala was a (relative) success, raking in more money than ever before. 

They had figured out pretty quickly who spread the word about Peggy's gala by taking one look at the Official movie Instagram, which boasted the gala as an Official Moviegoers Event.

And you'll never guess who ran the Instagram. None other than Mr  _ No Social Media _ himself, Quentin Fucking Beck. 

Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little scared to tell Peggy the news. 

All of that fuckery set aside, they were all pretty happy for the first time in a while.

And it was just the luck of this production for everything to fall to shit as soon as they were starting to get better. 

Steve's call time was a few hours earlier than Bucky's, so they'd parted ways that night, looking forward to seeing each other the next day. 

Bucky walked onto set and immediately heard gunshots. 

His vision tunneled, as he immediately saw Steve stiffen, looking pale as a sheet of paper.

Steve, always looking to ignore his PTSD for as long as possible, hadn't really identified many of the things that set him off. From what Bucky knew, it was mostly things that had to do with Secrets, from his time having to hide who he was. 

Bucky felt stupid for not putting together that Gunshots might be triggers as well. And as the second round of blanks went off, and Steve ran out of the room, he was powerless to help.

Bucky wanted to run after him, but he wasn’t sure that would help. Wasn’t sure if he’d make it worse, or better, or what. He wasn’t a therapy dog- clearly, since he was at present allowed on set, he couldn’t run home and get Max from Steve’s apartment in a timely fashion.

The best he could do was fight back. Someone had to, after all, and since steve was incapacitated, it may as well have been him.

“Quentin.” Bucky whirled around, fuming. “What the fuck.”

“Excuse me?” Beck was already directing the scene, making sure the blanks were reloaded for the reshoot.

“What. The fuck.” Bucky walked up, steady, unshaken. He wasn’t sure where this sudden reserve of courage had come from, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth “You don’t even care, do you? Steve just had a panic attack right in front of you, and you couldn’t give less of a shit.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, barnes.” Beck still diddn’t look up, watching as one of the prop guys reloaded the rifles. 

“I don’t appreciate you putting your actors through hell.” The prop guy dumped out all the empty shells, methodically dumping them into a white garbage bag. 

“It’s not my fault Steven has trouble adjusting to a movie set environment.” The last of the rifles were loaded with blanks, and Beck walked out of the shot, where bucky followed. “If he couldn’t handle it he shouldn’t have taken a spot in a war movie. I am not going to sacrifice this film to cater to one actor”

“It is your fault actually. He only took the role with the understanding they’d add the gunshot noises in post. Tony himself assured him of it.” Quentin broke from their conversation to yell quiet on set. “Why would you insist on having guns with blanks if you knew that’s not what Tony wanted. 

The blanks went off.

“In my office, Barnes.”

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. This was it- this was the furthest anyone had gotten with trying to fix their godforsaken movie. Most people walked into the office and weren’t seen again, others returned back to set with terror in their eyes, but nothing but high praise to give their director.

Bucky didn't care what happened- let Beck fire him. The fucker wasn't going to get away with this. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," Quentin looked calm, collected. Unlike someone who was being called out "You don't seem very dedicated to this film."

"Yeah, because you suck."

" _ Excuse _ me?"

"I said it," Bucky felt like he was boiling under the surface. "You. Suck. In fact, you suck so hard I'm almost convinced…"

He stopped in his tracks. "You're sabotaging the movie."

There were a few moments of silence, charged and tense. Then, cruelly, Beck sarted laughing. 

"Of course I am. What, did you think I was really stupid enough to run a movie this badly?" He kept laughing, manic, and Bucky felt his blood suddenly run cold. 

"But, why?"

"Why would I tell you that? I'm not some supervillain who reveals his motives for the sake of plot. You watch too many movies, Barnes." He crossed the room in a few smooth, strolling strides, untouchable.

"You'll have plenty of time to watch more while searching for another job. Goodbye, James. "

"But-"

" _ Goodbye." _

And that was it. Do not pass go. Just like that- the movie was over. 

And now Bucky knew there was barely even a movie to begin with. 

That wasn't on his mind, though. As Bucky excited the office, the only thing on his mind was Steve. 

Steve, who was banned from bringing his therapy dog from set. Steve, who served in the army and who's PTSD was set off by gunshots. Steve, who was now suffering alone somewhere. 

Bucky flew past Peggy on his way to try and find Steve, he heard her calling to him but couldn't find it in him to care. 

Steve, who had always taken the time out to help one of them when they were suffering, was now himself suffering. Alone. 

Bucky finally found him sitting on the curb outside. It was raining- how long ago had that started?- and he was soaked. 

Bucky's lizard brain couldn't help but think he looked beautiful, drenched in the rain, wearing his costume shirt and suspenders. His face was to the sky, and he was breathing heavily.

_ Not the time, Barnes _ . 

"Hey!" Bucky called after him, and it was almost as if the rain had gotten louder purely for dramatic effect. "Steve!" 

Bucky could practically  _ hear _ the dramatic violin music that would go well with this- it was every inch a movie scene, the only thing missing was the cameras. 

Steve turned to him, water droplets trapped in his eyelashes, hair dripping onto his shirt. He looked cold- Bucky came over with his wool coat, draping it around Steve's shoulders from where it once served as his umbrella.

"You're going to get wet!" Steve said over the rain, pulling Bucky's jacket tighter around him. 

"Look who's talking." Bucky squinted through the rain, trying in vain to tell if Steve had been crying. "Are you okay? How can I help." 

"I think I'm okay. The worst of it is over- I just needed some air and some white noise."

"Well, this is nothing if not that." Bucky came closer to speak into Steve's ear so he didn't have to yell over the roar of the  _ white noise _ , and pretended like it wasn't just an excuse to come closer to Steve. 

Not that he needed an excuse. anymore

"Can I… I mean, will you be okay if I touch you."

"..I think I'd like that." Steve said into his ear, so Bucky looped an arm around Steve's waist. One of his hands came up to touch Steve's face, lightly, gently. He leaned into it like a man starved. 

"Are you  _ sure _ you're okay."

"Better, now that you're here." Steve responded like the big sap he was, and it really was just like a movie scene. 

Bucky wasn't sure how it happened, but one moment he was looking into Steve's eyes, and the next they were kissing slowly, sweetly, enveloped by rain. Bucky felt water seep into his shirt and his socks, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Thunder roared overhead, and he couldn't care about that either, though he tried.

"What are you two oafs doing out here," Peggy's voice yelled from the doorway. "You're going catch your deaths"

"Hi Peggy." Steve answered

"What in the- Hello, Steve- what in the lord's name is going on. I thought they were going to do gunshots in post"

"They were." Bucky answered, pulling reluctantly away from Steve. "Until Beck decided against it."

"Thats it." Peggy looked about as angry as Bucky felt. 

"No. Don't-" Steve reached out to her, trying to stop her movement. "Don't do anything. Don't make it a big deal."

"Oh, I will, trust me." Peggy, surprisingly, turned back around to face them. "Just not right now."

They stayed outside until the rain backed down, and they were all soaked from toe to top, sitting back down on the curb, Peggy and Bucky huddling around Steve in a delicate hug- God knew he needed it, from the day he'd had. 

Bucky, shivering from the cold,laying his head on Steve's shoulder, freshly fired, was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: steve should be anxious and upset in this scene   
Me to Me: romantic rain scene.   
Me: uh...no he's having a panic attack.   
Me to Me: skip it. Romantic rain scene.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony visits the set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short and sweet, I wanted an even 10 chapters, so the end (the REAL end) will be the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3 this has been a wild ride.

Bucky didn't expect to come in the next day, but damn was he glad that he did. 

He forgot his wallet on set, and instead of asking Steve to bring it back for him, elected to come and get once last bittersweet look at his former place of torture. 

Bucky hadn't told anyone what he had learned- that Beck was doing this on purpose, running the movie in circles, because he wasn't sure why. It didn't seem helpful to give out incomplete information. 

Turns out, he didn't have to tell anyone, because as soon as Bucky entered the set, he walked into a  reaming was so glorious, Bucky thought it would be written about for years after.

College grads and breakout directors would all try to capture it on film, writers would toil for hours speculating about what was said. Therefore, the only fitting way to describe what happened next is in its rawest, script form 

> **TONY**_(Calmly, holding back, clapping slowly: _Ya know, when Peter told me my production was a mess, I thought ‘ I better check it out, but it can’t be all that bad. Then, when James "Breakdown" Barnes over there- hey! Fancy seeing you here- implied everything wasn't coming up sunshine and daisies, I got a little worried, and decided I would come over myself. I must say, beck you have outdone yourself. First, you completely decimate bruce’s script- which had already been completely edited, proofed, and completed before it ever hit your desk. And, just so the folks at home know what I mean by decimate, i mean absolutely destroy. It’s not only a bad script, it’s flat out incorrect. My grandfather and his wife were a lot of things, but never in love, and even if they were, everything would have changed as soon as the actual love of his life-good old Uncle Jack- died on the front lines.

> _ Tony pauses for applause/gasps/fainting women _

> **TONY, **_more angrily, betraying his real feelings: _Next, you refuse to give the crew any information or resources, which is imperative for a production, or so the very angry redhead you fired tells me. A lot of people don’t realise i’m producing this film out of my own pocket, and i hope you diddn’t either, Quentin, because you blew- i won’t even get into how much- on inderminable things, before changing your mind on them.You all but flushed money- My Money- down a gold-plated toilet. You threaten My employees- My dream team- ignore my preferences, make life a living hell on set, fire my employees, AND, in what is perhaps the worst thing like, objectively, on this list of wrongdoings, set off your leading man’s ptsd. Which, whatever, you could have had no idea. It wasn’t your business after all. So you insist on blanks, your goddamn mistake, you could never have known my very clear specific, and stressed instructions would be important, no big deal. Except for the fact you banned his fucking service dog which, by the way, is illegal and i will be suing if he doesn’t. Now I don't know if you’ve ever experienced a panic attack, Quentin Beck, but i can guarantee you it is already a terrible experience without any additional stress. Oh, and i see Max’s presence is allowed here today- say hi to Maximus, beck.

> _ Beck doesn’t answer _
> 
> **TONY**: What that tells me is two things; One, you recognise that it was wrong to prevent someone from having a service dog, and covered your tracks, and Two you’re either too stupid to realise how badly this would look on you or you wanted to sabotage this film. I actually wonder that about you a lot, beck. Luckily, the wondering is all over, since I received a very enlightening visit from your former leading lady in the parking lot earlier. Former, being the key word here, not because i’ll stand for her being fired, but rather because you are. Get out of my sight before the end of the day or i’m calling someone to make you leave.

A round of applause- why was it that everywhere Tony went, applause followed, and the entire crew seemed to take a sigh of relief. 

It was over, or at least it seemed to be so. Beck's reign of terror was over. 

Tony announced, now to the crew "Oh, and needless to say, anyone fired by Quentin Beck is rehired, effective immediately," He winked at Bucky, for little apparent reason. 

_ It was over.  _ Bucky let the thought sink in. He went to go find Steve.

He was filming a scene Bucky didn't recognize. and didn't care to. He looked like he had heard the callout from the grin on his face.

_ " _ Did you know Jack and Will were in love?" Steve asks, giving Bucky a celebratory peck on the cheek. 

"No, I did not. Not until now," 

"Huh." Steve looked relieved as ever. "I guess life imitates art. 


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The movie finally comes out, and so does someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is IT!! THE END!!
> 
> I've gotta say, I got a little emotional when writing this. It's been holed up in my heart and head for such a long time, its kinda cathartic to just press post and let it free. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it ♡♡♡

> _ **S** **TEVEN GRANT ROGERS** , playing  **WILLIAM STARK** in Tony Stark's new blockbuster World War 2 flick,  **Will & Jack** was dressed to the nines today at the red carpet for opening night of the film.  _
> 
> _ Steven has just recently started opening up about his struggles with PTSD and Anxiety, going on various talk shows, including The Tonight Show , where he graced the stage only a year prior in a  controversial interview about his Ally-ship to the LGBTQIA+ community.  _
> 
> _ Some think this is an attempt to cover his tracks after the scandal, to get back into the media's good graces, some think SGR's social anxiety is to blame for his less than gracious way of delivering his message. _
> 
> _ Either way, the movie itself is a beautiful close to both of these stories-In it, SGR plays an openly gay world war 2 veteran, in love with his best friend, ** JACK JOHNSON, ** played by breakout actor  **JAMES "BUCKY" BARNES** . _
> 
> _ And, while most war flicks tend to lay it on thick with the war-typical gore,  **Will & Jack** boasts to be 100% gunshot free, tastefully making the film accessible to be watched by those with severe PTSD, with sensitivity to gunshots, or anything similar.  _
> 
> _ This is courtesy of the movie's young director,  **PETER PARKER** , a film student at MIT who managed to snag an internship at Stark Productions, and was lucky enough to land the director gig after a  mishap with the film's Original director,  **QUENTIN BECK.** _
> 
> _ We hope you all enjoy the movie as much as we did, and we hope you'll all tune into our  **Live Stream of the red carpet right here at 6 PM EST!!** _
> 
>   
  


"Steven, can you elaborate on the nature of your relationship with your costars?"

It was almost a year later, and the disaster of the film was far behind them. Peter had proven an incredibly giving director, and at the end of it, they'd wrapped with a sense of fulfillment Steve had been craving. 

Now, at the red carpet, Steve couldn't have been happier.

"Oh, well he and I-"

"Oh, he? We mean with Peggy!"

...okay, so things could have been a Little better. 

Steve was officially out to most of his friends and family, and most of his fans had gotten the memo after a while. He'd even gone on a few podcasts and news shows to talk about his coming out experience. 

Unsurprisingly, TMZ had yet to get the memo.

"Oh, I thought you meant Bucky. MY mistake." Steve said, trying to push his dissatisfaction for the question into his voice. 

"..What about me?" 

Speak of the devil, there Bucky was, coming out of an interview of his own, incidentally just happening to run into Steve and the nice people at TMZ! 

...okay, they'd planned this. 

They'd planned all of it- an escape plan in case someone tried to corner Steve and ask a question he didn't want to answer. Bucky was in on it, Peggy was, even some journalists who had sympathy for Steve's situation were in on it. 

Steve just didn't expect TMZ to play into his hand so perfectly. 

"Oh, hey! There he is!" Somehow, Steve was an incredible actor, but still a terrible liar. Bucky said it was a part of his charm.

Bucky came up beside him, clean-shaven, with a fresh haircut (courtesy of Angie, who decided it was far too long 15 minutes before they had to leave, and gave him a trim on the limo ride over) and looking so handsome that it hurt Steve not to say so. 

"Hey. What's going on" Bucky was laying in on thick, acting as if this wasn't completely staged. 

"Oh," the reporter adjusted their glasses " Hello, james, I'm with TMZ. We were just asking Steve about the nature of his relationship with Peggy Cart-"

"You know she has a girlfriend, right?" 

All according to plan, Angie and Peggy had agreed to go public to take some of the heat off of Steve. 

"Oh, well yes. We've heard that " They absolutely had not, but continue. "But we suspected it was a cover up. So as to not raise suspicions about the two of you being together in the wake of such an LGBT friendly film!"

"If Steve and Peggy were together, why would they hide it? S'not like they have to worry about homophobia, or anything. " Bucky sounded genuinely confused, concerned. He made eye contact with Steve, and he was trying hard not to laugh. 

"Well I uh- that's not what I meant-"

"Its alright, I know you didn't" Steve said, turning his attention to the reporter. "It's quite easy to spin what someone says in a negative light, isn't it?"

"..well, yes, I guess s-"

"Let me answer your question," Steve said into the microphone that was offered to him. "about the nature of my costar relationships."

Steve can't say that he knew the cameras were rolling when he leaned in and kissed Bucky on livestream, being broadcast internationally, nor can he say it was a part of the plan.

All he can say is that he sure as hell enjoyed it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr- Kopescetic   
Instagram- Kopescetic__


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